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theknightmarket · 2 years ago

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"You're on."

In which Illinois and his partner explore a cave and relationship issues.

TW: sexual innuendos, cursing

Pages: 19 - Words: 8,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Tap, tap, tap. Water dripped from the ceiling in a slow, rhythmic state that could have sent you to sleep if you weren’t careful. Like a lullaby, it coaxed you to lie down and forget all about what you had come here to find. Of course, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, which mimicked the small streams created by your feet, kept you awake and aware of every little thing that happened in the tunnel. It was a cramped place, where you could touch both walls if you stood in the middle with your arms stretched out. Some places, you would have to crouch, but it widened the further in you got.

“Scary, huh. Heard a bunch of tunnels have caved in around here.”

You rolled your eyes. Your partner in crime behind you had a habit of trying to frighten you, ever since the first adventure you went on. He always mentioned how many people had gotten hurt in the places you went, or he’d pretend to slip on rocks just to get you to grab his wrist. It was to stabilize him, but he wouldn’t let you go without calling you out on how worried you were for him. And, yeah, he might’ve been right. The guy was an idiot sometimes – and you’d been with him for nearly three years at this point, so you reserved the right to say that – and you wouldn’t put it past him to crack his head open on a ledge.

Still, you called back, the sound echoing through the caverns, “We can always head back, if you’re that terrified, Illinois.”

That gravelly laugh followed suit and bounced off the walls, ending with him replying, “Never said that, babe.”

And there was another habit of his, calling you all the pet names under the sun. Sweetheart, darling, but babe was his favorite. He used them more than he used your real name, leading you to have to constantly remind him in case he had actually forgotten. Illinois always laughed it off, but you were sure he had the first handful of times he used the nicknames. After that, they just stuck, no matter how many times you asked for him to change.

You didn’t mention it, this time, though – instead, you concerned yourself more with the long stretch of path ahead of you. This wouldn’t be a problem if the walls weren’t completely uniform, and a mismatch of holes were dented in them. Arrows. That wasn’t too bad, given how sought after this treasure you were hunting for was. No way in hell would you risk your life for something worthless, or, as Illinois claimed, ‘the thrill of the hunt’. You liked being rewarded for your hard work, especially if it included dodging deadly traps that you’d normally see in action movies like the Mummy. You shook of the thought of Brendan Frasier and inspected the pattern of holes while you waited for Illinois to catch up.

When you felt a body at your side, you gestured to them and took a step forward. You were stopped by Illi catching your arm. Your confused look was matched by a sly smirk.

“Lemme show you how it’s done.”

You were tempted to remind him how long you’ve been doing this for but thought better of it when he took a few steps back. Every time you investigated a new place, you were filled with fear for that man’s life. It was as if he lived just to show-off, and, to who, you had no clue, because the only impact on you was concern for his physical and mental wellbeing.

Still, that didn’t stop him from taking the run-up and leaping into the fray.

Light-speed arrows shot from both directions, barely skimming his satchel and pinning loose fabric of his to the wall. Sharp tears broke the distant drip of water and sent goosebumps down your arms. Illinois flipped and dove, dodged everything that came at him like a rough acrobat, and yet he came out without a single scratch on him. At the other side of the battlefield, stone bricks now marred with chips and fallen arrows, he stood with that dazzling smile and glimmer of mischief in his eyes. A tip of his hat and the flick of a switch on his part, and you were safe to cross.

“Well done,” you conceded when you walked past him.

The smile stretched slightly further, the glint burned a bit brighter, and a small laugh escaped him. Illinois would never admit it, but he liked hearing those compliments from you, despite the faux reluctance behind your words – not that he didn’t get them from anyone else, you were just… different, like they made more sense coming from you.

“I’m a natural,” he half-joked while coming into step beside you.

Further into the tunnel, you were avoiding tapering vines at your boots, ones that threatened to trip you up if you weren’t paying attention. Puddles formed in ditches at the sides, but they only added to the ambience of the underground. It was pretty, you always thought it was, when life thrived without light. The faint trickle of rivers deeper in tempted you like a horse to a carrot, because you knew it was always worth it to get that one more scratch or drop that one level more. And yet, when the places you explored were the most dismally boring and mind-numbing that you could imagine, you still enjoyed being there, and you knew the reason.

Illinois came to a halt before a raised platform, something obviously man-made. Two plates were set upon the brick, probably meant to be weighted down to open up another part of the tunnel. He started by throwing his satchel on one, haphazardly only because you weren’t paying enough attention to berate him, which made the section under the other plate raise slightly. Looking up showed a hole in the ceiling that led to more tunnel, presumably where you needed to go. Illi made a noise of realization and jumped on with his bag, barely fitting and nearly skidding of the edge as it started moving.

Yep.

You were in love with that idiot, and you weren’t afraid to admit it. To yourself, of course, you would get trapped in a cave-in before tellling Illinois to his face. God only knows what that would do to his ego, so you kept your mouth shut, and have been doing well for the last two years. You were pretty sure it started in a gambling ring, and then it actually occurred to you when the both of you were running from a stampede of elephants. It was anyone’s bet as to why you liked the fool – maybe it was his rugged good looks, or how he always knew how to get himself in and out of danger, or maybe it was just your luck to fall in love with someone who was never going to reciprocate your feelings. You’d come to terms with that fact a long time ago, but it didn’t stop them from tainting your actions. It was second nature to save him a seat at the bar and booking a room in a hotel for one was unknown to you. Despite that, you couldn’t act on the feelings, no matter how hard it was to ignore them. You assured yourself that there will always be another big thing to chase and keep your mind off it; it was the only comfort you had in the darkest and loneliest of nights when you could hardly resist dialing his number and spilling your guts. Fatigue eventually knocked you out, but, like the next morning’s hangover, the memory stayed with you.

“Figured it out?” you asked, coming to stand next to Illinois. He had this concentrated expression on his face, shadowed by the brim of his hat, which noticeably sported many a hole from the arrows.

He hummed in response, and you looked away. No debris, no dislodged rock, no nothing. It was almost like they didn’t want you to steal the treasure they worked so hard in guarding. You bit your cheek; you didn’t want to go all the way back to the entrance just to grab a stack of bricks, but you weren’t seeing another way round—

Swift hands gripped your sides, sending you into an immediate state of panic. You began to wriggle, but the hands just squeezed tighter before lifting you over the platform. Warmth burst from the contact, spreading, and leaching onto your face, but they didn’t relent until you were placed onto the same plate as Illinois’ bag. Speaking of, you managed a glance over your shoulder when you finally stopped moving, just to see that very man staring back at you. You stopped moving, all focus now on glaring straight into his eyes. You weren’t mad, as much as you wanted to be, but you hoped it would be excuse enough for the blood red blush that set your face alight.

Illinois grinned, sure-fire, and confident. “I hope you don’t mind, darlin’, I had to borrow you for a second.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Accompanied by a wink, you only registered your feet leaving the ground when you were safely chucked onto a rocky ledge. Instinct kicked in and you rolled into a crouch, grabbing Illinois’ hand before the platform could fall back down. The grip was tight and firm, but you lugged him onto the stable ground if only to stop your heart rate from speeding up anymore.

You let a quick breath leave you, patted off your knees and thighs, and got up from the floor.

“Thanks, love,” he muttered before following suit.

You nodded and proceeded onwards, further into the cave system than you thought worth it. For another stretch, there were no visible traps, so you were free to think for a second, and think you did. Illinois had only come to you with this adventure a few days ago, giving you less time for preparation that you would have hoped for, but you got plenty done in the ride over. Illinois drove, you booked a room in the nearest hotel for some kind of after-party, and the two of you discussed the history of the place. Apparently, a lot of people had explored here before, though none were successful. A lot of them got stuck on that last puzzle, since they were loners or were cocky enough to think they didn’t need a partner – but some of them did get past it, if only to get stuck at the large drops. Now, you weren’t scared of heights, you had taken some rock-climbing classes and the three years of experience meant you could handle scaling down, but the rumors did give you pause.

Story went that ‘things’ ducked out of the cracks in the rocks and pushed people to their deaths, like eels but without the water. Forums called this bullshit, as nobody had reported anything of the sort in any other cave system before, but most of the adventurers tackling this place were adept climbers. You didn’t know what else would get them to lose their balance, and you were about to find out, as you came to the first of those many, deep falls.

“Dark,” Illinois pointed out when he leaned over.

You huffed, “You’re so smart, Illi.”

Hands fiddling with your equipment, your partner picked up a small rock and dropped it down the hole. Silence, silence, silence – 15 seconds later, the clatter echoed up from below, to which he made a noise of discontentment.

After laying out the ropes and shackles, you glanced up at him. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”

He shook his head, too fast for your liking, but played it off with a deep chuckle. “Me? You know me better than that, babe.”

“I wouldn’t blame you; you’ve heard the stories.”

“Oh, yeah, the boxing glove wall from knockout shows.” He took another glance down. “How ‘bout we make a bet?”

You’d been getting suited up while Illinois was talking, and, already done and with the hook secured in a crack, you were eager to get it over with, so you brought him closer by his shirt’s lapels and wrapped a rope around him. You secured it with another sharp tug, your chests now only centimeters away from meeting. “What kind of bet?”

His breath stilled for a moment, and you felt the words move over you when he spoke, “Whoever makes it to the bottom first gets a favor.”

This piqued your interest. You made bets all the time, both dangerous and not, and this bordered on suicidal. A race in a location known to be deadly with no sight of the bottom?

You stuck out a hand. “You’re on.”

And that was that. You let Illinois go, missed his ever-so-slightly disappointed pout, and started your way down the wall. Kicking at ledges to make sure they were stable, you planted your feet every few inches down in a methodical fashion. Meanwhile, Illinois realized how far behind he was and jumped down to your height, just nearly skidding against the rock to find balance. Again, you rolled your eyes, sure that he would still argue he had won if he dropped the entire way down and broke his legs, but you hoped he would be smart enough.

You heard a quiet, “Shit,” next to you and the clatter of pebbles as your partner lost his footing. He regained it seconds later, smiling in your direction as if it had never happened, but you only squinted at him in suspicion. You were now sure he would kill himself before getting to the end.

You tried to pass the moments in silent focus, but that was made difficult with Illinois by your side. He stayed a few steps deeper than you at all times while still offering small comments about the condition of the wall. Gradually, more vines caressed the rocks, covering up possible footholds and making the accessible ones slippery and dangerous. You grunted when you stuck your hand in a slimy nest of leaves and sludge, the texture coating your fingers and dripping off the side. You debated flinging it at Illi, but you didn’t want to be the direct cause of his death. Plus, it was gross enough in the dark, so you settled for dragging your hand across your leg and hoping it wouldn’t stain.

Halfway down, Illinois called out, “You know, I’m not seeing punchy eels yet.”

“Keep paying attention.”

He was the one to roll his eyes now, mocking you with one hand and haphazardly falling down with the other. Sometimes it got on your nerves how easy-going he was in these situations, but you focused on yourself and getting that little bit further. It didn’t help that Illinois didn’t like being brushed off.

“Maybe they lied, they’re just awful at climbing,” he pointed out, sliding down further.

“Be quiet.”

“But it’d make sense though.” Fiddling with the rope, he pulled it straight before jumping back even deeper than he had before. You were picking up the pace, still going carefully, but you didn’t want to lose the bet. “I mean, who goes on forums just to talk about their exploits?”

Ignoring the fact that you went on those forums, you wrapped a hand around his rope and brought him swinging below you. “Do you ever shut up?” you hissed before pushing him back.

He stayed there for a moment, thoughts running through his head that you weren’t aware of, until he laughed, “What, like you?”

“Yeah, like me.”

“I’m further than you, maybe you should follow my lead.”

Illinois was acting like a child, as he was want to do in those games, and you were split between entertaining him with a petty argument and keeping quiet. You knew it was smarter to leave him to it, let him monologue to his heart’s content, but there was a small part of you that wanted to spit back – and an even smaller part of that liked the argument. It was a part that liked the constant banter, where it was natural and came to you like a bird learning to fly. It was fun, admittedly, so you allowed yourself this little treat.

You replied, “If I followed your lead, we’d both be dead by now.”

“Oh, and who got us through those first two traps?” He clambered over to your side, leaning in just to point at himself dramatically. “Me.”

“You needed two people for the plates.”

“Stuck, but not dead.”

Now, you stayed silent, having come to a particularly slippery part of the wall. There were little-to-no holds scattered about, and the ones that were present were tiny and crumbling. Your eyebrows ruffled and you felt around for a better place to stick your hand. You found none. So, you’d have to jump it, or keep going across the wall to find some better place. With the bet in mind, although you knew it was dumb to put it before your own safety, you took a deep breath in and pushed away.

It was only a single second that you fell for, but that didn’t stop you hearing a sharp gasp from Illinois. Really? Had you managed to get the Illinois to fear for you. Maybe you should do that more often, and you tested the water by dropping for one more second. A smile graced your mouth when a vague ‘don’t’ met your ears, accompanied by the scrambling of stone and metal as your partner fell down next to you.

Risking a glance towards him, you noticed that the look of mischief was accompanied by a fresh hint of concern. It was wrong, but you took pride in that, like the first breath on a crisp, spring morning.

Illinois hid his expression beneath the rim of his hat. In his mind, he was hoping that you didn’t notice, but he wasn’t as dumb as you were led to believe; he knew you knew, and he knew that was bad. Not because he didn’t want you to be able to know – was he thinking ‘know’ too much? - but because he didn’t want his macho-confident façade to crack. He had worked to get this reputation up, especially with you, and he had been maintaining it quite well ever since he had met you. Now, here he was, getting all worried for someone he knew well enough would be fine no matter what was thrown your way. He couldn’t help it; it was like a natural instinct to be concerned for you. It didn’t stop him from putting you in those situations, reason amongst them because he loved seeing you rugged and worried for him, too. Instead, he focused more on keeping you out of immediate danger, and this was definitely immediate danger. That, and it would be boring without you! Call him a child, but having good company was the make or break of anything good you can do in your life.

And one way to make good company was to tease them relentlessly.

“Go on,” Illinois prompted, “when have you ever gotten us out of trouble with your ‘keep calm and listen to me’ policy?”

“The Church of Dawsit,” you were quick to answer. He had to admit, bringing an antidote for the most common form of poison was smart, and he would only have one arm if not for you.

Still, he replied, “Okay, that was one time, I’ve saved us plenty more.”

“Retneh’s Lagoon, Match-Fire, the Damned Catacombs, that one week in Washington DC—” A scuffle of rocks interrupted your boasting, bringing Illinois down with them. His boots first, then his pants, then his loosely done up shirt disappeared into the darkness, swallowed up and spat out into swaths of fear. His hat was the only thing visible as you shot out a hand to catch him. Impulse, the very thing that saved Illi one more day in the sun when he clamped his own tanned fingers around yours. Your breath caught in your throat, you felt the slime from earlier part the way between your skins, so you acted without a thought. It might’ve spelled doom had you not heaved him to your chest, wrapped an arm around his waist and pushed him against the wall. In any other circumstance, you would have blushed, but you were too preoccupied with stabilizing Illinois before he could slip any further. A knee between his legs and a tug on his rope was the most you could do while you waited for his mind to catch up.

“—and now,” you finished.

Your breaths combined in the air in front of, you only now noticing the distance between you had steadily thinned. It would be so easy just to lean those few centimeters closer, join your lips and let your heartbeat stay floating at a precarious 110 beats per minute. The situation between you two felt right, but the circumstances – suspended above a thirty-foot drop and barely held up by a single rope – did not. However, you couldn’t back up just yet, so you stayed there, waiting in a limbo painful enough to have you chewing on your cheek, while Illinois got his bearings. Not that this was helping him focus on his safety right now, in fact, it might have been counter-productive with the fog that clouded his mind. But it didn’t take much brains to act on instinct.

“Aww, look who cares about me.”

And he ruined it. You let him swing back to his original space, turned your face away and hid the embarrassment rearing its dirty head.

“Just admit it, babe, it’ll be easier.”

“Nope, never gonna happen.”

“So, you do care, you’re just not gonna say so.”

“Oh my God.”

It was weird to think that all happened over the course of twenty minutes but, when you got to the very bottom, all you remembered was a blur. Time spent with Illinois had a penchant for doing that, but, notably, the very man was standing with his arms crossed and that cocky smirk on his lips when you touched ground after him. You tried to ignore him, pushed him aside as you moved on, but he hummed a tune just inches behind you, almost standing on your heels. If you slowed down a fraction, he would bump into you, and you’d be in some new mess of your own creation. Because that was what the fall was – it was your fault that you had gotten so intimate. Sure, you could have let him drop, but what kind of person would you be? A monster, an idiot, nothing good. So, you really had no choice at all, but pulling him so close? Rooky mistake, given your troublesome feelings for him.

Drawing a hand to your eyes, you attempted to scrub away the memory of him pressed against the wall. This was horrible, and you couldn’t even escape to your own room because, like always, you had booked one to share! Your mind battled over the correct course of action, one side arguing that you should just cut ties right now, you should hoist yourself back up those ropes and figure out your own way home. The other side though, surprisingly logical for the one that blushed to high heaven, whispered in your ear like a cartoon devil. Why limit the time you had to spend with Illinois optionally? He was a good-looking guy, a charmer and anybody would be lucky to have him, so he’d be snatched up sooner or later. It would be dumb to dump potential happy moments just to be less sad later.

You agreed, thankfully, with the latter side of you, and you sped up towards the next obstacle.

Behind you, though, Illinois stopped still. He had never been more grateful for his hat to block his face, because the brightness of his cheeks would put the red sea to shame. He had just gone over this! Keep the cocky façade up and he’d be fine, but he just had to go and slip on whatever the hell that was and get into… that scenario. Oh, and he’d be thinking about that for months to come, probably years. The man wanted nothing more than to keel over and calm down, maybe drown himself in the rivers still at his side. He knew he had to follow you, and, when he focused his vision, he saw you turn a corner in the distance, causing him to pick up the pace with an awkward chuckle. He’d follow you but don’t even think of trying to get him to face you.

Just steps ahead of him, you came to a stop. A crossroads halted your steady march and left you wondering which way to go. Illinois appeared at your side in silence, crossing his arms and inspecting, too, each direction. The left was raised, like rocky, natural steps that headed towards a glimmering light in the distance, while going right meant following the stream puddling at your feet. More greenery thrived over there, but it was cramped compared to the other one. To you, the choice was obvious, and Illi seemed to come to a decision, as well.

“Left.”

“Right.”

Your eyes met for a brief second, questioning glances melting into surprise at your disagreement while you tried to discern whether he was just messing with you. After a few seconds of staring, you realized that he wasn’t.

While Illinois was panicking, wondering bleakly if you noticed his flustered state, you opened your mouth, closed it again, and then stepped backwards.

“You want to go towards the light?”

His irises dashed around the constraints of white as he thought. In truth, he didn’t want to go left, it was obviously just another way out, but he also didn’t want to risk you seeing him clearly. The shadowing ledges and irregular walls gave him the perfect cover but going right meant you getting closer and closer and closer – to the point that you would be backs against the walls, facing each other and sharing the same breath. Illinois wasn’t sure his heart could handle it.

“Yeah,” he mumbled before pretending to be confident, “everyone knows bright lights lead to good things.”

“That is objectively not true—"

“But if you want to go right, then that’s fine. We’ll just see who chose the better option later.”

You stared blankly at him, crossed between thinking he was being an idiot and wondering if there was something more to it. Most adventures you went on with Illinois had him begging to go further in, taking insane risks just for the idea of getting more treasure, and yet there he was. He stood in front of you, hip out and arms crossed, that half-assed smirk on his lips so he looked surefire of his decision.

You couldn’t imagine him really wanting to go left – and you were correct, unbeknownst to you – which meant it was a different reason. Racking your brain for a solution, you didn’t notice, not that you would be able to in the darkness, the sweat collected on Illinois’ forehead, nor the reddening of his ears, twitch of his smile. He hoped silently that you just went right on your own, give him some space to deal with the fluttering of his heart when you looked at him like… like that. Eye half-lidded and overcast, suspicion clear in the glints that normally held determination and a small bit of fatigue.

But they disappeared, shattered into a million pieces, when you landed on a reason why he wanted to separate.

It was because you had fucked up, and you had fucked up big time. Swinging him against the wall, what the hell was that about? You had messed everything up with a single movement, and now, Illinois wanted nothing to do with you. He was going to abandon you in the cave system, leave and never come back. You’d end up finding some useless treasure and return to the hotel, return to an empty and cold room with nothing but the clothes on your back and the stupid jewel – or whatever it was, because you, being the love-addled idiot that you were, had blindly followed your partner to one of the most dangerous locations to have ever been discovered! You weren’t even sure if the thing at the end of the tunnel was worth anything. Illinois had always been an adrenaline junkie, was that all this was for? Was that what you had wrecked your relationship over?

You twisted on your heels and started down the right path. Being in the same air as Illi was a death-sentence for you, so you had to get out of there as soon as possible, even if that meant the nail in the coffin for a chance to fix anything. It wasn’t like it would matter, anyway, and you’d only do more damage the longer you stayed. God, you were such an idiot, you could have done anything but that. Not stuck your hand in that weird sludge nest, not pulled him closer, not gotten into an argument, not flirted with him! Even though you had said that you had accepted your position, everything little thing you did sabotaged the very idea. You would never be able to move on like this, but you weren’t sure you wanted to. Too bad you had no choice, now. It was your fault. There was no one to blame but yourself.

Illinois watched you go. Sure, he wanted to go different ways, but the way that you left was… it didn’t seem right, it settled in his stomach like forgotten food in a fishbowl, mushy and powdery and just wrong. It felt terrible to disagree with you, but it felt like someone was pressing on his heart when your footsteps faded away. His hand moved unconnected from his brain towards the right.

Pulling his hat over his forehead, after having removed the sweat building, he followed through with going left. It wasn’t as if he could chase after you, he’d look desperate, and, what’s worse, wrong. He obviously was, but that wasn’t the point. No, he had to keep going, or he’d face the consequences of, well, your actions.

On the other side of the wall, so close that, at times, you could hear Illinois’ footsteps above you, you marched mechanically. You were deep in thought, and your body was put on autopilot to allow your mind to run free. You had a lot to consider with this new development in your relationship; what had to change, what you needed to do, even what you would say to Illi the next time you saw him. If you ever did again.

The problem was that you loved Illinois, and there was no way around it, but the things that made you love him were what kept you from admitting your feelings. He was daring in every situation, always willing to go the extra mile for what he wanted – that also meant he didn’t know when to stop because things were getting too dangerous. He was able to improvise in social areas without hesitation, which majorly reflected in the bars, when he’d shoot his shot at anything that looked his way. You trusted him with your life, but… there was no but to that one, it was the plain truth. You trusted him with your life, and you trusted him to not abuse the power.

The only question was if he trusted you back? That conversation on the wall, him refusing to admit that you had saved him. Was the resistance just because he didn’t think you could do it again and the only times you had flukes? Hell, it was painful to think back on him saying he could do all of this alone.

All that was to say, you couldn’t do anything now. Maybe this was for the best. You could go home, spend more than a week in one place, choose your own adventures for once.

Disregarding the almost-lethal pain that stabbed at your gut for your decision, you trailed along the stream into darkness.

Finding the treasure was no easy task, only bolstered by the tense silence between the two of you. As it turned out, the paths led back to the same place, a little circular patch of open air and rock that extended in just one direction. A bit tight of a fit for a tunnel, but you had already made up your mind. You’d get the treasure, leave, and never come back. Illinois didn’t try to make conversation either, save for the light, shaky and ever-so-awkward smirk he tried to send your way. You ignored it, ignored him, and kept going forward.

Illinois, albeit confused and worried for what could have happened to you in that tunnel, followed suit.

At the very end of the cave system, maybe eight kilometers from where you had started, you saw a light. It wasn’t as striking as the one Illinois had been headed for – the tunnel leading to it having also split into two directions – but it was definitely bright enough for a cocky told-you-so grin to appear on your par- Illinois’ face. You would have laughed but you were too tired to think about the irony.

That made it all the weirder when you stepped into a grotto. Your boots sunk into layers of tacky moss, squelched as water trickled onto the leather and drenched your laces. Sticks and weeds stuck up from underneath, but a vague path travelled from the entrance to a platform some steps above you. It appeared as though it belonged to some ancient civilization, or a temple ran by cultists. It was to be expected, really, with the trend you’d been seeing in your adventures recently. The greenery was a nice change of pace, you thought.

And, while Illinois could appreciate the beauty of plants surviving where they shouldn’t be able to, he was more focused on, well, you. You weren’t frantically listing all the special features you noticed, pointing out every detail of a type of tree or bush. You weren’t excited about any of this, and it had him biting his lip in concern. Was something wrong? Did he do something wrong? Had pushing you in a different direction hurt you that much that you lost all interested in this place. He remembered your smile reaching ear to ear when you were researching the caves back in the jeep, so something had clearly changed. At one point or another, a lot of people thought Illinois was dumb, but social queues were his forte. Normally, considering that he had no idea what was going on with you.

He could only trail distantly behind you. With the treasure so close, the adventure coming to a close and allowing a new one to take its place, he should have been happier. But, without you, the spark was gone, just some dirt thrown about by wind and the tap of shoes against brick.

The treasure was stereotypical, you believed as you approached. A golden box, shimmering in flickering torch-light, that was bound to hold priceless lumps of jewels. You could sell those easily, pawn them off or hold them above people’s heads with bravado. Really, you didn’t care what become of them, as long as it meant this whole ordeal was over. Finally.

God, you wanted to be happy. You wanted to feel free and unburdened, but the weight on your shoulders that had been building up after the disagreements you two had was getting unbearable. Now, you were just bored.

Not even the surprise of an amethyst key piqued your interest.

Illinois glanced over your shoulder, moved to stand next to you, and gripped the key in his hand. At least you didn’t flinch. He could have laughed; not even a few hours ago, that would have been an insane thing to be glad about. You had both been fine back then, but things could change so quickly.

“You wanna find out what this goes to?” he asked, trying to keep up the bravado that used to come so naturally to him. It was harder than rolling a boulder up a wall.

You didn’t answer him, not even with a look. A few seconds passed with only the inconstant drip of water as background, and then you were passing back down the steps right by him. Illinois felt like he should say something, he wanted to ask what was wrong and apologize if it was his fault – but you were gone through the tunnel before he could think to open his mouth. He gripped the strap of his satchel to find comfort, but there was little left in sunburnt leather. Questions ran rampant through his mind, pessimism overtaking his normal positive ideas. He may have not expressed it all the time, but Illinois liked to look on the bright side of things. This, though, had no bright side.

He ran after you, skipping two steps at a time until he bounded out of the structured area and into the system. Your boots were distant, but they were aided by the echo, so he fastened his pace. Hopping over vines, kicking loose rocks, ducking under lowered ceilings – it was difficult to keep a steady speed, and he managed it only after you started to slow down. He had half the mind to talk a leisurely stroll and just let you calm down, but he didn’t want to lose you, and he knew that if you got out before him—

Steps trickling to a halt – yours fading into the rocks.

Illinois stopped dead in his tracks.

He didn’t want to lose you.

He didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he had a pretty good guess. He’d had the lecture from his mother back when he was at home, he’d had the talks with his father, he’d had the high school sweetheart thing, he’d had it all.

He’d never had this before.

And – this was something he’d only ever admit to himself in the crevices of his mind – he was scared.

The reputation of Illinois Jones was not a hard thing to find out about; half of any town’s population could have been seduced by him, and the other half pissed that he’d left so suddenly. The adventuring community told stories about his exploits to newbies, and when they spoke, more people would interject with encounters they’d heard, too. It was like he was a cryptid in every place he went, some mythical siren-like creature that people lusted and loathed.

And he was scared that you wouldn’t want that. Sure, you’d been partners for three years, which felt like thirty now, but romance? That was different. He wasn’t used to it; it didn’t come as naturally as it did pure flirting. Flings after work in bars were easier than candle-lit dinners on a balcony. You deserved the best, and he just wasn’t it.

Illinois was dragging his feet out of that cave system when the sun was setting, fifteen minutes after you had emerged with a groan. Fatigue coated your bones, drilled holes, and connected them with metal. You were stiff and annoyed and you wanted to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. At least you were able to rest alone in the jeep for a couple minutes.

The jostling of the vehicle had you lazily opening your eyes, only closing again when you saw it was Illinois climbing into the driver’s seat. You removed your feet from the dash and stared out the window. Nothing was said, not a word exchanged, as you retreated from the caves and towards the hotel you had booked. You remembered making sure there was a bar there, having assumed you’d get back with celebration on your minds, so you knew where Illinois would go first of all. Some more time to think then, pack and get out of there without him knowing.

Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Would you be able to stomach abandoning Illinois, when he was probably too drunk to be able to get back to the room alone?

You bristled; he’d find a way, and that way was most likely going to be with a handsome and/or beautiful patron.

With that assurance in your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder why it still stung so much.

The bar stool was rickety, threatening to break under just half of his weight, as Illinois sidled into it. Constant chatter and laughter barely broke through whatever haze had been placed over him ever since you shuffled off to your shared room. You were obviously upset, and he was just centimeters away from grabbing your hand, but your boots left stains on the carpet that he stared at from the top of the stairwell. A sour taste was deserted in his mouth as he yelled out a ‘see ya’ that was never answered, so he was quick to swagger into the hotel’s bar, hoping to find relief.

He didn’t. Not with a shot of whiskey, not with a pint of beer, not with flirts and winks towards the residents of the hotel. These things normally cheered him up, but, when he thought back on it, there was something different now. You weren’t there, downing gin or whatever new cocktail was on the menu for the night, ignoring the drunkards who tried to get your number. Illinois would laugh, convince the bartender to give them some more drinks for free, and then cheer to your good health. Together. You were always together for the afterparty, and now that you weren’t, it was all wrong. You would stay quiet during these nights, and Illinois would do the talking, and yet he missed your subtle presence.

He could talk for hours about what you brought – the breathy laughs into your drink when he made a corny joke, the rolls of your eyes when he flirted badly, how you let him swing his arm around your shoulder when he got too into it – but there was no one to talk to. He was sure potential partners wouldn’t want to hear about the person he was sharing a bed with.

Oh, no, he had to make it up to you.

He couldn’t go a night sleeping in the same bed with bad blood between you.

He could deal a quiet car and being alone at the bar – really, he couldn’t, he was pretty sure he’d go insane if he didn’t leave soon – but eight hours breathing the same air as you? He’d rather throw himself through a window.

Illinois, scooping up two drinks of gin and coke that he did not pay for, rushed to stairs. People threw confused glances at him, but he could care less what they thought. For the first time in years, he was focused on one thing.

You.

So, he flew up the hotel’s levels until he got to yours, sprinted down the hallway and used all of his skills of balance and constitution to not spill a single drop. He was quite proud of himself when he arrived at your door, but he didn’t let the thought cloud his mind.

Pushing down on the handle with his elbow, he thanked the Gods above that it was unlocked, and burst in. Momentarily, panic flooded through him like one of Hercules’ labors. You weren’t in the room, and your bag hadn’t been unpacked. Half an hour after you’d arrived, and you still hadn’t gotten everything out? His heart quickened, blood ran to his cheeks and ears.

He was sure he would have collapsed had the curtains not fluttered just ever-so-slightly for him to see you. Outside on the balcony, wind rushing through your hair and calming the Texan heat on your forehead. He would have compared you to an angel had he not thought you were far above that.

Closing the door gently behind him with a foot, he swaggered steadily towards your figure.

You only noticed someone new had entered the room when the curtain was moved to the side, shifted so that Illinois could stand next to you. While you refused to look at him, you had no choice but to stay still when his arm brushed yours against the railing. It was cool, and it kept you thinking too much about just kissing him there and then.

“Some night, huh?” he muttered, the confident exterior melting away with the temperature.

You glanced away.

“Look,” he sighed, “I’m… I don’t know what I’ve done to make you mad, but I wanna know.”

Your neck twisted so quick that you thought it had cracked. “You didn’t do anything, I just,” you trailed off. It was difficult to put it into words, ones that he could understand, at least, but you would try. “I just realized something, and it’s changed some things.”

“What was it?” He sounded almost desperate.

“That this can’t work.”

And that desperation grew. “What do you mean this can’t work?”

This time, you fully stared into his eyes. The brown, as deep as a sea trench, swam with passion and fear and everything that you had fallen in love with. You couldn’t tell him that, but you wanted to. God, you wanted to so much that it hurt to keep your mouth shut.

“This… these adventures, these bars and this relationship,” you started to explain, “I can’t keep acting like I don’t have feelings for you, like I can sit and watch you risk your life and flirt with people and not feel bad about it.”

Illinois was stunned.

You might’ve been excited or said some remark about how you got the Illinois Jones to be stunned, but you didn’t, because you fixated on the widening of his eyes and the parting of his lips.

“You don’t have to say anything, I’m already planning on leaving—” You tried to turn away, but Illinois’ hands gripped your shoulders like a lifeline, keeping you in place before you could make it to the door.

You didn’t stop a vague pleading look to overcome your face – if he was going to do something, you wanted him to do it quickly and get it over with; let you go, yell at you, laugh, even! You just wanted him to do something.

And that thing that Illinois did do surprised you.

But you quickly melted into his chest, moved like a wave caressing a beach against his body. His lips were tainted with liquor, spritzed with the ashy smoke of the downstairs bar. He didn’t smoke – told you that it would be too bad to miss out on all those adventures just for a little down time – but the taste was something close to it. All in all, he felt like fire itself. Wonderful enough to sustain life, prized enough to risk your life for, and dangerous enough to die to. Perfect enough that you would want it.

You noticed it when Illinois’ lips shifted to a smirk against your own mouth, and you pulled his hat down in response. The laugh that escaped him sent shivers down your spine, only for you to press fingertips against his back and him to gasp on his own.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered, parting only for a second, before moving into the kiss again.

You hummed.

“You still owe me that favor.”

That had you drawing back. It let you see that playful grin you had to come to love, and the wink that you had come to affectionately despise.

Leaning to peck his lips once more, you fully stepped back – not without replacing your hands on Illinois’s shoulders first – and asked, “What do you want, then?”

Eyebrows rose, smiles exchanged, and, for your and Illinois’ dignity, no sleep was gotten for the rest of that night.

#markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos #markiplier #illinois #Illinois x reader #ahwm #a heist with markiplier #writing #fanfiction #8000 #the knight market #theknightmarket #one shots #adventurers

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anditendshowyoudexpect · 3 months ago

Text

i did something i hadn't thought i'd ever do again

i went into the Ted Lasso tag (and on the TL subreddit, why oh why do i do that😬)

i'm a simple person, no inner turmoil for me

overall, idgaf if it happens or not, it's been a year, i have made my peace with whatever used to bother me (i actually had to dig a bit in my head to remember it'd ended last year and not this year, that's how peaceful my head is about it now)

if it does, i'm definitely watching it whatever it's called and whoever's in it; if it's bad, i'm not rewatching it (having a cutoff line like that makes it very easy, just pretend it doesn't exist, the way we do with scrubs s9); if it's good, brilliant, i'll have more to rewatch

but the thing is, the part that did happen already, all the bits of it that i have various feelings and emotions about, lives on my hard drive to be there for me and mine whenever

so how the existence of a new season that's supposedly worse and/or unnecessary ruins the already existing seasons

can those who don't want it, like, simply ... not watch it

i'm not being whatever unflattering adjective you might be thinking, i'm genuinely struggling to understand

i have seen a lot of this with cliffhanger endings and several years' gaps between seasons during which fanon becomes larger, more intelligent and more ambitious (much easier to do ofc when you don't have to actually film the damn stuff) than canon

this however

what is the problem exactly

you don't have to trust or mistrust the people that created your show to do right or wrong by it/you

take this thing you love and just... like... fucking continue to love it, as is your right and your duty, they shouldn't be able to do anything about that, it fucking belongs to you now

this is not even a reunion of an old show, although i'm pretty much fine with those too. i saw the new Frasier. i forgot about it two episodes in. i did watch all of the new Will & Grace. i liked it. i don't remember much about it either

speaking of

if anyone, like, for some reason wonders why

(i've always wanted to use this scene somewhere!)

#ted lasso

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louhomebear · 2 years ago

Note

this is a prompt of chubby louis if you want any... maybe a confident louis before and he gained some weight and got a bit chunky and his 'friends' and family are constantly being rude and telling him to loose weight and he gets sad and very introverted which causes him to eat more?

all the love ❤️

-anon :)

Ok this isn’t edited !! 2.3k :) xx

“So what happened with that bloke Lou?” Niall screeched over the loud music. “What?” “That bloke! The one who was shagging you left right and centre! What happened with him?” Niall quirked his eyebrow. Louis giggled. “Oh! Hahaha, he ended it. But it’s fine lad! I was too hot for him anyway!” “Oh louis.” He rolled his eyes. “What I would do to have your confidence!” Louis giggled in response.

***

Louis stretched and squirmed in his bed, slowly opening his eyes. He hadn’t fallen asleep till 3am, munching on snacks and watching Frasier on his laptop.

Thinking about it, he had been munching a lot lately. Oh well, he had a nice body. It probably hadn’t effected him much. He’s always been petite and had never had to worry about weight fluctuations. Wiggling his toes, he got out of bed and plodded to the shower to get ready for work. He was going home next week and couldn’t wait to see his little sisters. His mum was another story, but he didn’t really want to burn a bridge with her and have it affect his relationship with his younger siblings.

Next week rolled around pretty fast. He was trying to pull on jeans he hadn’t worn since summer and felt his heart jolt as the jeans snagged at his thighs. He took in the large expanse of them and felt his tummy squirm. What the fuck! When had this happened?

Liam barged into the room. “Louis! Have you seen my jumper? You didn’t steal it again did you, you little shit.” He started to rummage through Louis' dirty washing pile before finding the soft sweater.

“Ah hah! I knew you had taken it.”

Louis raised his eyebrows at his friend and shrugged. “Aw bless, you’re getting a little tummy there Tommo. A Tommo Tummy! What a great name!” Liam pinched the new little pocket of pudge at Louis’ tummy, smiling fondly.

Louis burned bright red and batted his hand away. He looked down and noticed a slight curve of his tummy. Obviously he’d never had abs, but his belly used to be relatively flat, now it had a bump that jutted out slightly underneath his belly button.

“It’s not funny Payno, piss off. I can’t get my jeans on!”

Louis actually felt his face burn in embarrassment. He’d never had to experience this before and he knew his mum was a little fat phobic. He was panicking. Liam’s faced softened and he pulled his arms back. “Lou, it’s fine. You look adorable. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Honestly, your new curves are so cute!” He slapped his hands down by his newly soft hips and puffed his cheeks out. “Liam! Help, I’m meant to be going home and look! I’m too fat for my jeans! What am I going to do!” He burrowed his head in his hands and let a tear trickle out. “Seriously Liam, my Mums going to make comments in front of everyone and it’s going to be so embarrassing.”

He let Liam pull him towards his bed and into a hug. “It’s okay Tommo! You’ve just got yourself a little belly and it’s cute, don’t worry about it. I’ve got jeans that will fit your waist, you’ll just need to roll them up at your ankles a little okay?” He nodded and wrapped his arms around his tummy. “Okay, I guess. I’ve never felt this way Liam! I don’t know like…I don’t know! It’s so foreign to me!” He whined. “it’s okay louis, I mean you’re just a little pudgy, you’re not like, fat.” Louis sneered. “Wow jeeze! Thanks Li. You really have a way with words you know.” He sniffed. “what! I’m just being honest. it’s not like it’s bad. You just have a little chub. I think it’s cute.”

louis rolled up to his parents house and braved himself for the inevitable. “Louis son! Good to see you! Oh wow, you’ve sure got comfortable. Getting a little double chin there!” Mark commented, wrapping his stepson in a hug. He caught Mark looking at his midsection but Louis sleeked out of the hug quickly, running into the living room.

His sisters squeezed him tight and they caught up with each others lives before their mum came sauntering in. “Louis dear! How are you! Oh dear look at that stomach! What have you done to yourself!”

“Mum!”

“What I’m just saying, you’ve gained quite a bit of weight! I got you some clothes for Christmas but they probably won’t fit you! My god Louis, look at that belly.”

She reached forward and patted his stomach where it was sticking out the most

So after that Louis became really insecure. And the thing was, he had never had to feel this before. He had always been so comfortable in his skin, eager to flaunt it to the point it was vaguely irritating for whoever was around him. And Louis wasn’t helping himself at all, it was as if all the comments made by his friends and family upset him enough that he actually began to binge a little more.

His mum had slapped his hand away when he reached for more cake at the table. He had been forced to go back home in February to celebrate his parents' anniversary.

“Louis, do you really think you need more?” She had said. “You need new jeans” she had tutted, pinching the small, thick roll of fat that had snuck out his jumper. He had glared at her and stuffed the cake into his mouth, just to annoy her. She had then muttered something about him turning into a right porker if he wasn’t careful.

Louis grew to not mind his heavier body, it was soft and squishy and he liked that he had more curves. But he was so embarrassed and ashamed for anyone else to see it, he knew it wasn’t attractive.

He had a slight double chin now and his thighs were large, rubbing together when he walked. His tummy had turned into a sort of double belly, the top part getting round and hard by the end of the day after he’d overstuffed himself, the lower part staying soft jiggly, almost sitting on his lap when he was sat down.

He was trying to get dressed for the lads night they were going to have, when he realised Liams jeans didn’t fit him at his waist anymore. He felt shame bubbling up in his belly, knowing this was self-inflicted. Maybe he could try and button them underneath his tummy? Yes, that seemed to work, but it meant that his belly was proudly on display and he needed to find an oversized jumper to cover it. Walking into Liam's room, he ruffled through his closet before finding a massive dark blue jumper.

“Alright Lou? Is that you stealing my clothes again!”

For fuck sake, Liam was back with all his mates, and a new one that Louis didn’t recognise.

“Liam! Shut the door!” He sneered. Too late. Niall and Zayn came sauntering in along with the new bloke, Harry.

Harry was very tall and broad, which was exactly what Louis liked in his men. He had long hair that rested just below his shoulders and gorgeous green eyes. He offered Louis a little wave.

“Hey Lou! Hey tommo tummy, you’ve grown again!” Zayn cooed, giving it a prod.

Louis glared at him and pushed his hands away. “Leave me alone.” He whined. He saw Harry smirking and he felt a crimson blush rise to the tips of his ears.

“Tommo tummy?” Harry asked.

“It’s what we’ve named Lous belly, it’s so cute hahaha.” Niall laughed, patting it.

“Will you all stop touching me chub and let me get dressed! I need to find something that will actually cover this.” He gestured towards his stomach.

It was probably pretty obvious how self conscious he felt as he wrapped his arms around himself and backed into the wardrobe, pretending to search for something to wear. Liam ruffled his hair and beckoned them all out.

“You look great, Louis.” Harry said, giving him a hard stare. Louis blushed again and smiled in thanks, leaving Harry to let himself out.

Louis emerged a few minutes later in one of Liam's oversized jumpers, which drowned him.

They were munching on Chinese and watching the footie when Zayn picked up the teasing again.

“So when are you going to stop stealing Liams clothes and get your own, even his jeans aren’t fitting you now!” Zayn gently grabbed his lower roll and gave it a shake, everyone in the room burst out laughing aside from Harry, who was frowning.

Louis had had enough and felt tears well up in his eyes, he slammed down the Tupperware box of fried rice and stormed into his room. Sitting down on his bed he let the tears cascade down his round cheeks not bothering to wipe them away. A soft knock was heard on the door and Louis allowed them to enter. It was Harry.

He sat down beside Louis and pulled him into his side, he could feel his chubby hips and belly squish into the hard planes of Harry’s abdomen.

“Shhhh it’s okay Louis. Don’t cry.” Harry offered and Louis looked up at him with the best smile he could muster up.

“Sorry Harry, I don’t mind a little gentle teasing but my Mum insults me enough and sometimes when the lads do it doesn’t always feel funny.” He sniffed.

Harry’s hard expression softened a little more and he nodded. “I don’t obviously understand how it feels but we’ve all been a little bullied and I remember people making fun of my greasy hair eventually got tiresome. For what it’s worth, I really like your body.”

Louis’ furrowed his brows in confusion. “You can’t possibly think I’m good looking Harry. You don’t need to pretend, I get it.”

Harry shook his head, his curls flaying about a little. “I like chubbier men. I like a little meat to hold onto. Your body is actually perfect, Louis.”

Wide eyed, he continued to look up at Harry, feeling his tummy squirm. He liked the way Harry didn’t pretend he wasn’t overweight and he didn’t dance around the subject either, he just views Louis’ playful pudge in an entirely different way. “Really?” He asked.

Harry smiled, “really. I like a man who can eat.”

The lads crowded into Louis' room with guilty faces and sad eyes.

“Lou we’re sorry, you usually just giggle when we tease you but we get it’s gone too far. We’ll stop.” Liam said.

“It’s okay, I’ve gained a lot of weight and I know it can be funny but I get enough bashing from my mum and sometimes it doesn’t feel so jokey.” He said quietly.

They all coddled around him, kissing his cheeks and ruffling his hair.

“We love how cuddly you feel now Loulou, you’re stunning!” Zayn said.

“Yeah Lou! You were always gorgeous but I mean it when I say the extra weight really suits you, you’re so cute love.” Liam offers, squeezing his friend a little tighter.

** “Want a cuppa Lou?” Harry asked.

Louis had started to hang around Harry a lot more, growing quite close. They were constantly flirting and touching each other, Harry was never feeling content unless he knew the boy was well fed and warm, he had taken to looking after him realising that Louis didn’t do the best job of it himself.

Since then Louis had put on a few more pounds, but that was okay, Harry assured him it was. And when his mum came to the flat while him and the boys were having dinner, she scolded him for having more food than the rest of them.

“Louis, why have you got double the amount of casserole that Liam and your friends have?” She hissed with a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Because he’s hungry.” Liam jumped to his defence.

Mrs Tomlinson stood back baffled at Liam, the boy had always been nothing but polite to her.

“He certainly doesn’t need it, look at his belly and god Louis, your thighs look like slabs of meat, at least have the decency to wear some joggers. Those shorts look positively ridiculous on you.”

Harry stood up abruptly. “Mrs Tomlinson, what is your problem? Your son is nothing short of perfect. He has a degree, a house, a life - he’s flown the nest perfectly if you will. Just because he’s overweight now, doesn’t equal failure or a free pass to belittle him. He’s perfect. And if you are concerned about his health then speak to him about it in a proper manner. Do not come in here to simply humiliate him.” Harry’s brows were furrowed and he had clear indications of frustration and sadness etched into his features.

“And who exactly are you?” She sneered.

“I’m Harry. I’m his other half, if you will, Mrs Tomlinson.”

“Very well, Harry. Stand up Louis.”

Louis sat routed to his chair, gobsmacked.

“You don’t have to, lou.” Zayn said.

“I said, stand up.”

Louis stood up and let his mothers eyes rake over his imperfect body.

“I will be sending you a gym membership. And I expect to see results. I can’t have someone like you in my family.”

“Leave. Now.” Harry’s eyes were stone cold.

Louis' mother did a 180 degree turn and slammed the door.

His friends all huddled around him but he let Harry pull him into his lap, cradling him like a baby,

“I’m okay guys.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes.

And Louis was okay. He was overweight and he was happy. Anyone who says you can’t be fat and happy, obviously hasn’t tried it.

Louis finished the rest of his dinner.

#Chubby Louis

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olivereactsaboutgarbage · 2 years ago

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Higurashi When They Cry - Watanagashi Chapter 5

I just want everyone to know that I don’t have the Steam achievement for meeting Shion. That’s so outrageous. I have the Steam achievement for getting food from Shion and the Steam achievement for getting rescued by Shion but not the one for meeting her.

Anyways

Keiichi’s Shion Meal is actually a super powerful rare meal he obtained via cheating that has been imposed upon him.

Also I think Rena is shipping Keiichi and Mion probably. If I’m right that’d be funny after Keiichi spent half of the last arc shipping Keiichi and Rena.

Hmm. Two? Where by “Two?” I mean “That’s inherently unacceptable!!”

Oh, Keiichi’s voice acting was cute here. That’s a first. For his voice acting. And probably a higher single-digit number in terms of overall Keiichi Cuteness Moments. Still a single-digit number either way though. But... a higher one if we’re counting things other than voice acting.

Keiichi learns that he can actually drag three leeches to the Shion Meal, but he only learns it while surrounded by leeches, so he learned it at a bad time, because it takes more than three leeches to surround a person, and also he doesn’t like them.

Keiichi doesn’t like to make jokes about sexual assault. I guess that makes him a better When They Cry protagonist than Battler.

Ew... did I really just say that...? Ew... disgusting...

Hmm, if Rena is actually a Keiichi/Mion shipper, and Shion is actually a completely different person from Mion (possibly untrue) and Keiichi is stupid (definitely true), that specific set of conditions would mean it sucks for Rena how Shion is groping all over Keiichi. Metaphorically speaking. It’s up to you to figure out what part of what I just said was a metaphor--shouldn’t be too hard, maybe.

Unfortunately for Keiichi, Shion’s Mealhouse is also a den of leeches. The acting drains from their voices and presumably also the color drains from Keiichi’s face.

fuck, this entire chapter is making me like keiichi. the stakes aren’t even high, why do i like him right now

Well, I guess this is just the same thing they pulled on the show Frasier via the existence of Niles Crane. Except I actually like Niles Crane. Not that I’m an avid Frasier fan.

Keiichi reiterates his stance that sexual harassment is actually bad.

Non-voiced text disagrees.

Keiichi decides to unveil the foreshadowed Shion Reciprocity and make a huge scene. Also he’s fatphobic. Also his fuckin’ Way-More-Useless-Spidey-Senses are inescapable even when they don’t really impact the plot meaningfully. They truly are innate to the boy himself, and not simply to his genre.

Ick, don’t say that. Especially not without enclosing it in <>s, old-timer! ...Actually I don’t know offhand which localization is older, but I know what I like, so I have chosen to ascribe youth to that which I like.

Keiichi lacks training and is a young man, so in order to cover for one of those deficiencies, he summons Chekhov’s Leeches who aren’t young men: Rena and the Toddlers.

wtf since when are all the losers not losers. they’re even less losery than the last time they weren’t losers!!

LMAO

Keiichi is pretending he owns walky-talkies. Or maybe he actually owns them. Probably not though.

The punctuation is getting sassy this time around. I like it! :)

This is the single most vile sentence known to man???

Why’d an entire BG get drawn for this restroom. How many more times is Keiichi gonna come in here.

Not “a” girl, not “the” girl, but simply Girl, in its purest state. Like a Toddler 02-shaped-hole punched through reality straight to the ocean known as All Quantifiable “Girl” Substance. I guess that makes Toddler 02 one of the best characters, because entity-shaped holes punched through reality are extremely great, especially when they lead to The Outer Turn!

...why would anyone trying to rationally explain their position end their sentence with “NyaaaAAAHH~”. Well whatever

Ah, but the English words used by the voice acting were clearly “I shall return”. Everyone else isn’t actually going to return, and the implication that they will is a false narrative concocted for unclear yet sinister reasons.

Anyway, Keiichi’s anti-leech fatphobia saved the day.

If the voice acting is to be believed, then the definition of the word “hau” is “was a pervert”. This explains a lot about Rena’s character!

Hmm... I suppose it could be said then that I also wield it... the power to make Keiichi laugh...

Ah yes, playing dumb. Another episode of Keiichi Being Correct Moments.

Is Rena calling Keiichi “the girl” here? Hmm... it suits him.

Rena all-but-confirms Keiichi’s theory that Mion and Shion are the same. Phew, I guess the fact that Shion loves groping Keiichi isn’t going to ruin Rena’s day after all. Not that I care especially deeply about that specific Mood Hypothetical.

Ah... hold on... let me do some cross-referencing...

“I’m very kind and thoughtful, but Shion has a cold and scary personality...!”

Alright. Dichotomy noted.

Nico Robin moment

Correct.

Wrong.

MEAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! >:(

Oh right, I kinda forgot about that too. It was like two hiatuses ago on my part.

Um. Okay dude

Anyway, I can’t believe it... Keiichi has entered his Mind Palace and activated Smart Mode. Via the activation of Smart Mode, he’s completely eviscerated his greatest character flaw... this power level is way too high...

...okay even with Smart Mode activated, Keiichi didn’t even note the dichotomy I noted. Okay

Y’know a friend was saying a while ago that as someone who started with the anime, he found the VN’s pacing unbearable. I wonder if the anime also has this many extensive flashbacks in Keiichi’s Mind Palace.

BRO THE WORLD IS SO ORANGE??? There need to be more visual novels that take place in Orange World.

Anyway, this is just the plot of Umineko.

Keiichi decides to fix everything by giving Shion a toy, like in that Phineas and Ferb movie where Doofenshmirtz fixes everything by giving Shoofenshmirtz a toy. Keiichi is standing in for Mion in this situation and also this analogy doesn’t make any sense.

Wait, actually, Keiichi isn’t going to give Shion a toy directly, he’s going to make Mion give Shion the toy. So my analogy was fucking great and all of you were wrong to ever doubt me!

You jackass. Mion, just give her the toy already so she goes to jail

yeah she is laying this on way too thick for it to be anything other than a lie

i am going to commit fucking murder

Meanwhile, in Side Story Land...

What??? Why is Shion putting Keiichi in a car in Side Story Land??? What is this

OMG!!!! IT’S ULKI FROM FIRE EMBLEM!!!! YES YES YES YES YES

#IT TURNS OUT #higurashi #when they cry #is what i'm consuming

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smartypants196 · 2 years ago

Text

A Teacher With a Gun is Like a Cook With Rat Poison

A Teacher With a Gun Is Like a Cook With Rat Poison by Katherine Valentine

Do you like pink and blue AR-15s?

A teacher teaches; a gun kills. Teaching is not killing; killing is not teaching. In fact, one could say that killing is the very opposite of teaching.

We would not be talking about arming teachers if it were not for so many school shootings — 27 so far this year. There would not be so many school shootings each year if it were not for gun manufacturers and distributors and the National Rifle Association. Gun manufacturers and distributors and the NRA would not be big business if there were not big profits to be made by selling guns.

It’s all about selling guns, ammunition, body armor, holsters, concealed carriers, bore sights, cleaner kits, spare magazines and speed loaders, storage cases and gun safes, and ear protection. And more guns.

And lots more profit.

Guns are not like bread. You eat up a loaf of bread in a week or so and then must either forgo sandwiches and toast or buy more bread. Manufacturers of bread are assured of continued profits. Meanwhile, there’s a Winchester 94 .30–30 1899 Lever Action Rifle from 1894 on sale right now that’ll still kill you. (I’m not going to link to the advertisement for safety reasons.) Gun manufacturers don’t mind if you collect an old weapon here and there, but to ensure their profits continue, they have to get you to buy the latest, in-style killing machine. The AR-15 will do it — you know, like the one that kid used on May 24 to kill 19 students and two teachers at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas. Better yet, two.

Salvador Ramos, the shooter at Robb Elementary, has become an “influencer” in the killing industry! Like any influencer, he encourages people to buy products and thereby create profit for manufacturers and distributors. Like any recent AR-15 influencer, he creates profit for Colt, the manufacturer of this most popular (and profitable) rifle, and for 52,779 gun stores in this country. Ramos and the other AR-15 influencers do this by making us afraid for our safety and the safety of our children. We are now so terrified for our safety that we buy 20 million guns a year and now live in a gun culture.

So now at school, we want to arm teachers.

Think about this for a moment. Which of the teachers you had would you have wanted up in front of your glass in body armor with weapon in holster and gun finger at the ready?

Would it be Miss Summers? Remember her coming into second-grade class that day with a basket of daisies from her garden? She gave a lovely flower to every boy and girl in class. No, Miss Summers loved everybody, probably even if they had an AR-15. She could never shoot anybody.

How about Mr. Frasier? Mr. Frasier once picked up a boy and turned him completely upside down to demonstrate what “invert” means. But when he wasn’t inverting fifth-grade boys and fractions, we could see that Mr. Frasier had this tremor in his hands. He might have shot the wrong person.

Then there was Mrs. Barkley, who really did bark in high-school English class when anybody began a paragraph in an essay with “But.” But Mrs. Barkley once called Abie a “Jewboy,” and she always gave him a bad grade. No, arming Miss Barkley would surely be like giving the cook rat poison.

Think back. Do you remember any teacher you had who would have been capable of protecting students with a gun? I can’t. Besides, the idea of arming teachers so the gun industry can continue to rake in big profits really is the stupidest idea ever.

Or maybe you agree with Ted Cruz — you know, that senator who’s been bought by the gun lobby — that the best protection from gun violence is more guns. Well then, after the next school shooting, you’ll probably be talking about arming not only the teachers but all the students, too. I’ll bet Colt will be happy to produce a backpack-sized lighter-weight version of the popular killing machine, in pink for girls and blue for boys. Maybe they’ll call it the MAR-15 (M for mini).

#gun safety #gun control #guns #school shooting

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minor-solemnity · 4 years ago

Note

i don't know if this counts as a request but just makeup sex!! the way you wrote smut in curiosity was so good!

This definitely counts as a request haha! Thank you so much, I hope you like it!

2.8k of (a little) plot and more smut :)

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey

Game Theory

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

Hogwarts is hosting a festival for a comet. You’re not sure why a comet deserves a festival - something to do with an ancient prophecy allegedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw. The night shall bow to fire and the school shall stand strong. It’s all very poetic. Regardless, Hogwarts is celebrating the passing of the comet over the school and you have to admit that the grounds look beautiful. Tiny replica comets made of bluebell flames dance above your head, marble statues of famous astronomers and seers stand proud in the tall grass, and garlands of lotus flowers, yellow jasmine, and, more strangely, parsley are strewn everywhere. Further down, there is a sectioned off area for dancing where tinkling music can be heard drifting over the light breeze. The small rowing boats that usually carry the first years over to Hogwarts are adorned with tiny glowing lights, ready to take you and the rest of the school across the lake to see the comet blaze across the dark sky when the time comes.

You feel like you’ve walked into a fairy circle, not the grounds that you’ve come to know so well over the years. You stand there, at the doors to the castle surveying the scene before you with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Students are milling around, enjoying the music and the food. You can spy a few of your friends drifting about and you make a note to say hello when you get the opportunity. If you get the opportunity.

Because… because you’ve done something pretty stupid. You’ve gone and found yourself a date and as it turns out, Frasier Rowle is… well he’s handsome. Which was why you’d started dropping hints a few weeks ago. But he’s also brimming with undeserved arrogance and entitlement. He’s possessive too, and petulant. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d apparently hugged Charlie a little too tightly for Frasier’s liking and he’d sulked for a week straight. No, Frasier doesn’t like other people playing with his toys and in any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes and dumped him for his childishness.

These are not normal circumstances though. You'd needed a date for the festival because if you didn’t then you’d have lost. Well. Sort of. There’s no game being played, certainly not officially at any rate. But still, you don’t lose games official or unofficial. It’s a rule you have for yourself. You like winning. Simple.

So, you smile demurely at Frasier and ignore the way his black dress robes wash out his pale eyes and pale hair (you wished he’d opted for the blue as you’d suggested) and offer him your hand. He takes it, holding it a little too tightly as you descend the steps to the party below. You feel the weight of his gaze even though you can’t see him. You ignore it. You pretend you don’t know you’re being watched as you twist your arm through Frasier’s and when he kisses your cheek, you pretend you don’t care that Frasier’s breath is a little sour from whatever he ate at dinner.

Charming. You’re charming and funny and flirty and Frasier is proud to have you as a date. You can see it in the way that he all but parades you around in front of his friends. The tell-tale prickling on the back of your neck tells you that he’s still watching. Which means you’re still winning. So you smile and laugh and stay close to Frasier even when he and his friends start talking about the internships and jobs their wealthy and connected parents have secured them. Frasier is apparently going straight into the DMLE even though his grades suggest a role as shop assistant would be far more suited to his capabilities.

“-like I always say, it’s not a bad thing to be better than other people.” Frasier’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your smile turns slightly strained. Because it isn’t a bad thing to be better. But Frasier Rowle simply isn’t. He reminds you of one of those expensive eclairs that your mother sometimes brings home when you have cause for celebration: beautifully decorated and full of air. “Isn’t that right?” His elbow digs into your ribs and for a second you stop smiling. He frowns expectantly.

“Of course. You’re completely right.” You say and carefully extricate yourself from his arms. Deciding to date Frasier had been a stupid decision on your part. In all honesty, you find him incredibly distasteful but… But he serves a purpose. And you’ll be damned if you don’t see this through. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll get us some drinks?” He nods and you make a hasty (but not too hasty, you wouldn’t want anyone watching to get the impression that you’re eager to leave) departure.

You’re standing at the drinks table, pretending to decide between a flute of sparkling apple juice or pumpkin juice (why wasn’t wine an option?) when he slides in next to you. Tom looks horribly good. His dark hair is parted neatly, falling in delicate waves across his forehead and the soft glow from the bluebell flames throw his aristocratic features into sharp relief. You note, with no small amount of irritation, that Tom, unlike Frasier, looks devastatingly good in black. His robes are perfectly cut and look soft and inviting in the way that expensive things often do. You imagine that they’re a gift from Malfoy or one of his other cronies.

“Rowle then. That’s who you’ve decided to degrade yourself with.” Straight to the point then. Well, good. This is the only reason you’ve been putting up with Frasier for all these weeks, after all. You cast a sideways glance in Tom’s direction and are aggravated to see that, despite the jealousy lacing his words, he looks entirely at ease. Like he’s just asked you about the decor or the weather or last week’s arithmancy test.

“I’d hardly call dating Frasier degrading myself. He’s been offered a very important position in the DMLE, don’t you know?” You reply archly. He raises an eyebrow in response and you purse your lips primly, as though you don’t share his exact thoughts on Frasier’s future Ministry job. You turn to him then, taking in the darkness of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Something that feels like it could be triumph settles in your stomach. Tom is a master of controlling his emotions, but even he has his tells. “More to the point, why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer right away and really, you don’t expect him to. Why does he care? You aren’t sure he even knows the answer to that himself. All you know is that after a year of meeting him in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, you can’t stand to be a secret anymore. And he can’t seem to stand the idea of holding your hand in public. “I’m merely surprised. You’re reasonably intelligent and he is... Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing his family is so well connected.”

“Reasonably intelligent? If it weren’t for you, I’d be top of the year,” You say indignantly. He smirks that you realise that maybe you should probably be defending Frasier’s intellect. “And I find mine and Frasier’s conversations incredibly... stimulating, if you must know. It’s really quite nice to get such a fresh perspective on certain issues. No pointless arguments because he’s too stubborn to realise what he could lose.” You smile innocently as his posture grows taught and his lips thin.

“Oh look, your security troll is coming to collect you,” Tom says dispassionately, eyeing Frasier who has spotted you and now making his way steadily over. You scoff.

“Oh please, Frasier is hardly a troll. He’s much too-” whiny, self-important, weak “-small.” Something dangerously close to a laugh escapes Tom’s lips and a pang of sadness and anger and longing twists in your gut. It’s far too easy to fall into your regular routine of barbed comments and sly humour with Tom. It reminds you of the other conversations too, the secrets and confessions that seem to spill from you both whenever you let your guard down for long enough. Whatever. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you. Not enough for you to be satisfied anymore. You shoot him a smile, insincere and caustic, “Besides, maybe I like having someone who cares enough about me to see who I’m spending time with.”

He frowns, only for a second, and that’s the only sign you get that your words have affected him before his expression clears and he looks as impassive and impenetrable as ever. Frasier appears and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s unhappy. He looks between you and Tom with a suspicious sneer distorting his features. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. But I should have known, it’s so sweet of you, darling, to be so charitable with your time.” You tense at the thinly veiled insult about Tom’s humble beginnings before you mechanically pass your date his drink. He wraps an arm around your shoulders in a, quite frankly, terribly insecure show of machismo. You smile up at him and refuse to look back at Tom as he leads you away.

***

Night has well and truly fallen and you’re silently bemoaning the fact that your dress robes have short sleeves whilst you try futilely not to shiver. Frasier hasn’t noticed; he’s busy talking about his future or quidditch or the funny thing his house-elf did last summer or some other entirely inane thing with his friends. His hand is curved around your waist and you’re fairly sure it’s for Tom’s benefit. This, at least, makes you somewhat pleased. But still, you’re cold, you’re bored, you haven’t been able to talk to your friends at all, and you’re wishing desperately that it was Tom’s arms around you.

It seems as though your scheming has not gone to plan. Well, no. The plan had been to make Tom jealous and you’re fairly sure you’ve accomplished that. But still, you somehow feel as though you’ve lost. At the sound of a loud chime, a hush falls across the festival and the Headmaster announces that you have thirty minutes before the comet is scheduled to pass overhead. Immediately, the professors begin to coral students towards the lake and a crowd of eager teenagers starts to form around you, pushing forwards to get to the boats. Frasier’s hand slips from your waist and you get separated in the rush. You’re about to reach forward to try and grab him when a large, warm hand touches your lower back. You freeze because you know that touch. Know those hands. Intimately.

You’re not that easy though. You’ve been denying yourself what you want for weeks at this point. You can carry on for another few minutes. “Where are you taking me?” You ask and you’re quite proud that you sound demanding, maybe a little petulant. As though you wouldn’t follow him wherever he decided to take you. Judging by the shrewd glance Tom sends your way, he can see right through the protests forming on your tongue.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He pushes you inside the castle and suddenly the noise and commotion of the festival feel very far away. The quietness of the empty castle seems to envelop the two of you, creating an almost stifling atmosphere that you somehow can’t quite bring yourself to break. Tom drags his gaze over you, drinking in every change in your expression, every shift of your body. You feel vulnerable and raw and seen. Slowly, he raises his hands and runs them up your arms. You’re skin, still cold from the night suddenly feels like it's on fire. “You’re cold.” You nod. “I would have expected better from someone of your date’s impeccable breeding,” Tom murmurs it like it’s an insult. You frown and are about to ask what he means when he shrugs out of his robes and drapes the heavy fabric across your shoulders. He smiles then, slow and possessive and pleased.

The errant embers of desire that have been burning in your chest since he first touched you spark brighter and fiercer. He takes you by the shoulders and holds you close as he leads you further into the castle, the press of his chest against your back, the pressure of his fingers on your skin a tantalising promise of more to come. “You know, I was rather looking forward to the comet. A once in a lifetime event, I’m told.” And well… You still sound petulant, maybe even a little bratty but also breathy and excited and oh, oh, Tom’s humming deep and low in your ear, maybe a little amused, maybe a little endeared and his fingers press a little harder and he quickens his pace as though he wants - needs - this just as badly as you do.

He carries you the last few steps up to the astronomy tower. No sooner have you made it to your destination than he is pressing you against the wall of the tower, one hand gripping your waist tightly the other moving to cup your jaw, his fingers spread across your throat and you gasp and-

Wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he finally kisses you. There isn’t a metaphor or simile that describes the fervour he kisses you with. He’s demanding and desperate in the way his lips slant across yours, tasting and searching and you yield. You yield so quickly it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so hot with want and need and desire. You angle your body more closely to his and relish in the hard press of his chest, the way his hand slides from your waist to your hips then back to your waist like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch you. You can feel the unmistakable hard outline of his cock against your hip and you grind upwards, unthinking, lost in a haze of pleasure and the feeling of his lips biting kisses along your jaw.

You unwind your arms from his neck and reach his belt but are stopped when he takes a step back, his hands moving to grip your wrists before you can continue. You feel unmoored and can’t quite help the whine that escapes your lips. When your gaze finally focuses, you see him watching you, his already dark eyes are practically black, pupils blown, his lips are swollen and wet, and his breathing is ragged. “Does he do this to you?” He asks, his usually smooth voice rough with emotion.

When you don’t say anything, he smirks, and, holding both your wrists in one hand, slowly, teasingly drags his other up the inside of your thigh. You’re helpless to stop him as he dips his fingers down into your underwear and curls two inside you. He teases you with long strokes, using his thumb to brush against your clit until you’re trembling and gasping and pleading. “Can he make you lose control like I can?” His voice is dangerously low and he’s watching you closely, never quite giving you what you want.

It’s torture.

It’s bliss.

“Please, please, please,” You chant under your breath, a steady stream of words and preyers that aren’t all decipherable. “Please, Tom, you know he can’t. You know it’s only you, please, please.” His face goes slack with desire and just as quickly as he’d pulled away he’s pressing closer to you again, kissing you hard.

His thigh nudges your legs wider apart and you hook one leg around his waist relishing in the pressure and friction this new angle affords you. You hear the zip of his trousers and then the tip of his cock against your folds as he aligns himself and, “Ohh, please, Tom, I need-”

Your senses are overwhelmed by his smell, his touch, his quiet grunts of exertion as he sets a rather punishing pace. He’s mumbling promises and praise and curses into the crook of your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move in sloppy rhythm against your clit, adding just the right amount of friction that has you gasping obscenities into his ear.

The pressure in your lower stomach builds and builds until finally your orgasm crests over you. He’s holding you tighter still, riding you through it until you collapse against him, shuddering through the aftershocks. He follows you soon after, his body growing tense, his grip on your hip so tight it’s almost painful, your name on his tongue.

Afterwards, you curl up against him, his robes (you were right: they’re soft and warm and expensive) wrapped around you both. Tom strokes your hair almost absently as you watch the sky as Ravenclaw’s comet streaks past, bright and bold and so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Almost. “I want you to take me on a date. And hold my hand in public.” You say. Request. Demand.

He laughs and pulls you closer, “If that’s what it takes to keep you from embarrassing yourself with the likes of Rowle, I’d be happy to oblige.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #minific #prompt fic #prompt fill #prompt #asks #requests #anon #tom riddle smut

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amerrierworld · 4 years ago

Text

Not a total frickin’ idiot

For the request: R x Daphne Kluger. R being a part of the original Heist Crew and also being the one Daphne approaches. They’re super flirty w/ each other and everyone knows that they like each other except themselves.

Summary: You thought you had gone unnoticed at the Met, but Miss Kluger never forgets a face.

Characters: Daphne Kluger x fem!reader, the Ocean’s team

Word Count: 1,657

Warnings: swearing!? Do i still have to put a warning for that? idk

If you had learned anything about diva actress Daphne Kluger from Rose, it was that you don’t speak unless spoken to first.

And considering she didn’t talk to you at all during the heist, you were able to get around the entire night never uttering a single word to her, fulfilling your role on the team without any kind of hiccup.

So you were quite surprised when she had slid into your booth at your favourite coffee shop, giant sunglasses and a fashionable sunhat masking her face. You looked up from your phone and were about to comment about your booth being taken until you recognized her.

Your mouth hung open a little bit as she took off the hat and glasses. Her lips were painted a deep red and her outfit was impeccable, as always.

“Say..” she immediately said, pearly whites nearly blinding you as she smiled, “you were at the Met, weren't you?”

“I- I’m sorry?” you began. “I don’t know-”

“Oh my god! You totally were! You were wearing that adorable dress. Gosh, you looked so good.”

You were blushing hard, because in a matter of barely a minute, Daphne Kluger, gorgeous movie star, had called you adorable and good-looking all in the same sentence.

“I was there too- well, obviously you know that,” she chuckled, “and I was wearing that beautiful diamond necklace, don’t you remember? It was all over the news. Especially when I supposedly lost it.”

“O-oh? Right, y-yes I remember reading about it in the news..”

“And you know.. I couldn’t help but wonder how weird my designer was acting all night. And that lady in the black from the staff, who found my necklace? You’d almost think they were acting.”

You were almost as pale as a sheet at this point, gripping your cup in shaking fingers.

“And you know what’s funny? I saw you talking to both of them during the night. I mean, how couldn’t I notice? You looked so gorgeous, almost like you were asking me to see you.”

You gulped, “I do not know what you’re talking about, Miss Kluger-”

“Just call me Daphne,” she leaned forward, lips spread in a feline smile, elbows resting on the table and propping her head up on her hands.

“Y/N, right? I asked for your name from the guest list, I hope you don’t mind. They let me in on those sorts of things anyways.”

“That’s me,” you replied.

“Do you know Debbie Ocean? Of course you do, you two also seemed pretty close all night, hm? You’re lucky I was the only one who noticed.”

“What?”

“I’ve been approached by an investigator who seems really interested in her because the uh, necklace turned out to be a fake.”

You tried to pretend to be surprised at the news, but you couldn’t muster it, and Daphne looked at you knowingly.

“Luckily, I didn’t tell him any of your names, because I wasn’t sure if I was right. But you just confirmed all my suspicions anyways, so..”

“Are you threatening me?” you narrowed your eyes at her, and she gasped in mock offence.

“Of course not!” she leaned forward, giving you ample view of her cleavage, hand trailing over yours,

“I’m seducing you, Y/N.”

You didn’t know what to say as she looked at you with those deep, telling eyes. Her own eyes flickered appreciatively over your features, and you wondered if she was checking you out or if she was simply acting.

A small group of fans approached the table, chittering and blushing at the sight of Daphne Kluger in a meagre coffee shop such as this one. She smiled amicably, accepting their compliments and giving them autographs, before saying,

“You’re all so sweet, but do you think you’d be able to let my girlfriend and I have some privacy for the rest of our date? Thaanks,” she waved as the fans rushed off, gasping and gossiping amongst themselves at the prospect of the Daphne Kluger having a girlfriend.

“Girlfriend?” you asked once you found your voice again. She only grinned and winked at you.

“Oh, don’t be like that baby. Now, are you gonna tell me about the necklace, or what?” she sipped your drink and your mouth went dry.

“Chilly,” Daphne remarked at the glances given by the rest of the group, “what about, ‘Hi Daph, welcome to the team. Let’s not all high five at once.’”

You chewed your lip, bounced your leg, avoided her gaze altogether, and tried very hard not to look at how good she looked in her black dress. You were sitting across from the couch where she had plopped down, hunched in the metal framed chair.

“Why’d y’let her get to you, Y/N. I told you not to draw attention to yourself!” Rose said to you, after you and Debbie had explained how Daphne had found you, recognized you and called out the plan. You, being the newbie in the ways of criminality, could barely think of a cover up and ended up bringing her to Debbie with a spluttering confession.

“She didn’t,” Daphne’s eyes were locked on yours, “I just noticed her myself.”

You blushed a little and looked away. Debbie looked at you apologetically, knowing you felt put on the spot.

“Plus,” Daphne continued, “I am the one who is saving your asses from insurance fraud, okay?”

The team burst into shock, responses flying left and right.

“I-I was gonna get to that,” you said hastily, eyeing Debbie, who stepped in,

“It seems that they’ve assigned an insurance investigator-”

“Who’s about to look up your asses with a flashlight,” Daphne pointed out.

“Who?”

"Oh, this little Columbo dude, everything but the trench coat, totally on to you.”

“His name is John Frasier,” Debbie said.

"Wha- you know him?” Amita spluttered in disbelief.

“Yes, he busted my father twice, my brother once.”

“He’s family,” Lou added.

“Lest we forget, this entire enterprise was to keep me out of jail,” Rose interrupted, worry etched on her face.

“No one is going to jail,” Lou assured her.

“We expected this, we prepared for this,” said Debbie. Not many of the team seemed to believe her, with Nineball adding,

“Yup... that’s clear.”

“We will not be the prime suspect,” Debbie said sternly.

"Then who will be?”

“Well,” you added, “we’ve got the security guys, the busboys-”

“...The shady guy who put you away,” Tammy sighed, arching an eyebrow at Debbie, who could barely contain the smirk on her face. Daphne stared at her incredulously,

“..the boyfriend.”

"Mhm,” Debbie replied, “they were gonna be looking for somebody, just had to make sure it wasn’t one of us.”

Lou nodded in approval, adding a faint, “that’s nice.”

"Thanks.”

“Wow... that is amazing,” Daphne grinned, chewing her gum in delight, “the precision, right? It’s always the attention to detail and the little grace notes that really make something sing.”

A short silence followed. Glances were cast between the rest of you, wondering what on earth had gotten into Daphne’s head.

“...Why are you doing this?” Tammy asked, clearly dumbfounded by this multi-millionaire actress dropping into their party. Daphne stilled for a moment, her eyes flickering to you for a second before saying,

“I.. don’t have that many close female friendships. Plus bookclubs are the worst, so I just thought y’know... could be something fun to share?”

“You’re becoming a criminal because you’re lonely?”

“...Who isn’t sometimes, right?”

"Are you an only child?” you asked her. Her silence told you enough.

The team seemed to accept at that point that Daph was there to stay, so they went about their usual business.

“Beer?” Lou offered you, which you immediately said yes to, feeling a little woozy after that whole experience.

Tammy went to the kitchen and opened another pizza box, and you went to grab a slice for yourself before calculating your next move carefully, hoping your brain wouldn’t short circuit as you grabbed another slice and headed to where Daphne was sitting by herself.

You sat next to her, very very awkwardly, and offered her the paper plate.

“Aw, thanks,” she smiled, cheering up a little, “you know you don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be nice to me because you feel bad for me. Look, I’m sorry I cornered you the other day. I didn’t mean to seem desperate or whatever.”

“You- you didn’t seem desperate,” you frowned, “and I don’t feel bad for you. Whatever gave you that idea?”

She looked at you with a mouthful of pizza, and made an exasperated gesture to your whole surroundings, indicating the events that had just occurred. She also didn’t want you to know how she had been dying for your attention the minute she had seen you at the Met.

“Oh, well, I mean, I think your reasoning was perfectly justified,” you cocked your head at her and smiled. Then you lifted your pizza and said,

“to crime!”

The rest of the group cheered and replied with the same phrase, lifting their beers or pizza with glee. Daphne blushed at the exclamation.

“Now you,” you said, nodding encouragingly.

“What?”

“Do it! If you’re gonna be a part of the Ocean’s team, you gotta get with the rituals.”

“Rituals?” Daphne scoffed. But then she saw your dopey smile and sparkling eyes, and her insides melted. She delicately lifted the pizza and said,

“to crime!”

You laughed and sipped your beer.

“Ten bucks says they’re dating by next week,” Nineball said in the kitchen, peering into the fridge.

“I say by the weekend,” Constance offered.

“Idiots,” Rose shook her head. “If tonight is gonna keep up like this, I say by the morning.”

They eyed you and Daphne chatting away on the couch, completely forgetting about everyone else.

“Not so lonely anymore I guess,” Tammy smiled.

“Told you, crime’s good for many things,” Debbie nudged her and smiled at Lou, who rolled her eyes playfully.

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whatsabriard · 2 years ago

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Watch With Me - Hart to Hart 2x06

Original Airdate: January 6, 1981

Synopsis: An Egyptologist is killed just before the opening of a stagey exhibit, featuring the mummy of an ancient Egyptian prince who legend says is waiting for his princess to join him in death -- and she looks just like Jennifer.

Why this one?: Because it's about some rando who is obsessed with Jennifer- or someone who looks like Jennifer, which is the trope this show bangs out with great regularity and I'm HERE FOR IT.

Favorite Quote:

Jonathan: Anthropology. Oh yeah, that's the study of man. As a member of the species I have to tell you, you've been neglecting your studies lately. Jennifer: I have? Jonathan: Mmmhmm. Jennifer: Well, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me? Jonathan: I can try.

This episode is an absolute mess, so of course I love it.

"Nobody with a brain goes to a museum for a floor show." So this guy is an academic. They're grouchy, ofc.

Jennifer is at this museum to-do as a reporter. She works hard for her money, eh eh eh eh.

"I have to go check on my hieroglyphics." "Oh, how symbolic of you." badum tssss.

in the 80s folks were really really obsessed with Egypt weren't they.

and mummies. don't forget the mummies.

jennifer is channeling Dominique!

one thing about this show is that they have outfits for every occasion.

Jennifer almost majored in Archaeology.

Max is doesn't actually care when he's the coitus interruptus. He doesn't even blush.

the menfolk at 3100 Willow Pond are not impressed by Mummies, though.

Hey does everyone recognize this place from The Murder of Jonathan Hart? Oh, wait, we haven't gotten there yet. UM SPOILER ALERT?

Jonathan is feeling like a little shit during this episode. He's just nitpicking like a champ and he's really just there to flirt with his wife and look at her in her fancy outfit

he keeps making stupid comments and Jennifer is like "you're lucky you're cute because you're being such a brat rn."

we've all seen the Brendan Frasier cinematic masterpiece, The Mummy right? because this whole plot hinges on the idea that the mummy looks at Jennifer and sees his beloved, who's name is not Anck Su Namun.

Supposedly Jennifer looks just like this princess. I am like meh, I guess.

the angry cranky doctor is in the sarcophagus. he dead

This guy, Assad, says everyone is missing the point, that the prince is there to reclaim his princess.

everyone looks at jennifer.

Jennifer can't sleep which means Jonathan can't sleep

her cleavage is like...out there, so Jonathan thinks it's a great time to get busy on the couch.

this isn't a halloween episode but it could be cuz jennifer sees a mummy hanging around outside her house when Jonathan is sucking on her neck.

jonathan finds a piece of wrapping outside the house and it smells like myrrh and resin and all the things they used to preserve mummies.

SHE BOOP THE NOSE.

But then he come to life. R'uh r'oh.

but jennifer thinks Jonathan is just playing with her and it's NOT FUNNY.

they jackal and jonathan fight, the mummy shows up but only Jennifer sees it and Jonathan is skeptical.

"some bandaid freak is after my wife."

Assad was the jackal that Jennifer booped. This is a detail I've never paid attention to in all the many times I've watched this episode.

I'm not here for plot, kids.

Jennifer gets a necklace (it's from Assad, but she doesn't know that) and the note says it's' going to protect her. Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Jonathan says "we've got to find Assad"" and then he calls. spoopy magics.

Assad wants to see jennifer in person alone at his apartment.

NOTHING BAD COULD COME OF THAT.

From what I can understand, they lifted the entire crypt of the prince. Because another doctor. lady was studying the diagram of the crypt itself and found a secret passageway...in the exhibit?

weird.

she gets dead by the mummy too, btw.

the necklace makes jennifer go sleepy and she gets herself kidnapped by Assad, who really does believe all this stuff.

now that is an outfit.

Assad is about to kill Jennifer when the Mummy shows up. He's like really strong and he throws Assad across the room. he's about to kill Jennifer when the sirens distract him, which is handy.

Our man Jon does not handle jennifer being gone very well. He shakes the knocked out Assad like a rag doll.

Jennifer is in the closed Sarcophagus and the lid is HEAVY. So heavy jonathan has to use a pully to open it.

so when jonathan starts fighting with the mummy, it's CRAZY when the mummy actually shatters the heavy rock? he's like wicked strong?

so it makes NO GODDAMN SENSE that the mummy is the museum guy????? is he on LSD? How did he break rock? How did he snap the neck of the doctor.

and he would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those meddling kids!

at home, jonathan is sort of teasing Jennifer about believing in the mummy which means he's still not over being such a little shit.

Now who's flaunting the cleavage, J O N A T H A N.

#hart to hart #jennifer hart #jonathan hart #stefanie powers #rj wagner #80's tv #watch with me #life ruiners the original recipe

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morbidmotive · 3 years ago

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I've had the beginnings of an Animaniacs/Bob's Burgers crossover fic sitting in my docs for a LONG time, but I'm not sure if I should pursue it, so I'm posting the first two chapters under the cut so that I can if it's something anyone would read or not. (Keep in mind these are still only rough drafts)

Chapter 1

Inside the Warner Bros. water tower, Wakko and Dot were literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. Dr. Scratchansniff was going to New Jersey for a big counselling conference, ‘Council Con’, and he’d agreed to let the Warners come along if -and only if- they behaved themselves. The three siblings promised to be on their best behavior and so far - with the exception of typical excited child-like behavior - they had held up their end of the bargain.

“And we’ll be able to see above the clouds!”

“And we’ll get those little packets of pretzels!”

“And they’ll have those little trays that fold into the chair in front of you!”

“And our ears will get plugged from the air pressure and then they’ll pop when we land!”

“And we’ll get to stay in a hotel!”

Yakko sighed as he listened to his siblings excitedly jabber on about their plane ride the next morning. He couldn’t blame them for being excited, he was excited too - this was their first vacation, but he had gotten his excitement out in the weeks prior, and now he was focused on making sure the three of them were ready for the next day as his younger siblings rattled on and on and on about all of the things they'd get to experience during their first vacation. After an hour, their list hadn't made it past the plane ride, let alone the rest of the trip.

“Are you two all packed?” he interrupted, putting the last few items into his suitcase.

“Yes!” his siblings confirmed before going back to their excited chatter. Satisfied, Yakko zipped up his suitcase and wheeled it over next to Wakko’s and Dot’s luggage.

With a satisfactory nod at everything being prepared, he walked over to his siblings. “Okay, sibs, we should probably go to bed.”

"What?" Wakko whined in disappointment. He then ran to the tower door and threw it open. “But it's still light out!"

“Besides, we aren’t even tired yet! We’re way too excited to go to sleep now!” Dot agreed. “Please can we stay up?” Dot asked, clasping her hands together and giving her oldest brother her best puppy eyes. Wakko joined in too; between the two of them, Yakko was sure to give in! “Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase!?” they begged in unison as they slid onto their knees.

Yakko smirked. “Nice try you two, but it isn’t going to work. With as early as we need to get up tomorrow, I’m not going to want to try and drag you both out of bed and get you dressed in the morning.” As expected, he was met with two exasperated groans. “Think of it this way, sibs; would you rather spend the first day of our first vacation too tired to do anything, or, ahhhh, do you want to spend it having some fun?” Wakko and Dot were silent for a moment, but then begrudgingly agreed that Yakko was right. “Of course I am, that's why I'm the oldest," Yakko said with a triumphant smile. He took his sibling’s hands and pulled them to their feet before ushering them to the bedroom. “I know we’re all excited now, but we’ll be even more excited when we get there tomorrow.”

When they entered the bedroom the three siblings got changed for bed. Dot crawled into her bed as Yakko finished buttoning his pajama shirt. He then turned to Wakko, who was buttoning his pajama shirt very slowly.

Yakko sighed. "Wakko, hurry up."

The younger Warner brother groaned dramatically but did as he was told. Once he was done and had crawled into his hammock, Yakko turned off the light and collapsed into his ball-pit, seeking sleep.

They had a long day ahead of them.

Chapter 2

“And… GO!” Gene yelled, and he lifted the plank of wood that kept the crabs they were racing behind the starting line. The crabs began to scuttle down the racetrack they had drawn in the sand as the siblings cheered for them. Gene’s crab was taking the lead with Tina’s close behind, and Louise’s crab was trailing behind in last place.

“Come on, come on, I have a race to win!” Louise yelled, and her siblings followed in cheering for their crabs as well.

For a moment it looked as though Gene’s crab was going to win, but it then stopped and turned around before heading back to the starting line.

“No, Crabatha Christie, you’re going the wrong way!”

“Come on, Jennifer Crabniston, you’ve got this!”

“Pick up the pace, Pablo Escrabar, you’re so close!”

The three continued to cheer on their crabs as they scuttled in different directions, and in the end, Tina’s crab was the winner.

“Yes!” Tina exclaimed, “I win! I believe you two losers owe me five bucks.”

With groans of disappointment, Louise and Gene handed over the money.

“How dare you betray me like this, Crabatha Christie!” Gene said, looking over at his crab. “Aw, who am I kidding, I still love ya, girl.”

“Well I don’t.” Louise said, glaring at her own crab, “This is why you got caught, Pablo, THIS IS WHY YOU GOT CAUGHT!”

They watched as the crabs began to walk back to the ocean. “Well, there they go, back to their home," Tina said. "Speaking of which, we should probably head home too, it’s almost time for the dinner rush.”

“Oh yeah, Tina, it's such a rush.” Louise said sarcastically.

“I mean, you never know, stranger things have happened.”

"For four seasons," Gene said.

Louise just groaned. "Fine, let’s go pretend to help mom and dad give Teddy his burger for the night."

…….

The Belcher kids walked into the restaurant and were surprised to see there were several customers inside, almost at full capacity. Their mom smiled over at them.

“Hey, you three!” She greeted excitedly. “So, who won the big race?”

“As a matter of fact, it was me.” Tina said with a proud smile.

“Aw, my little winner!” Linda said happily. Louise grumbled something about her crab losing on purpose to spite her.

Bob peaked through the serving window. “Hey kids, get washed up, it's time for the dinner rush and this time it actually is a rush.”

The kids walked to the back and washed their hands, and Tina grabbed her apron.

“What are all these people doing here, dad?” Tina asked.

“Isn't it great?” Bob asked excitedly, “Some people got food poisoning at Jimmy Pesto’s, so everyone came here instead. I mean, it's bad that someone got sick, but good that we get his customers.”

“That's the spirit, dad.” Louise said, heading out to the dining area.

“And don’t forget, we’re catering that psychiatry conference thing this weekend, you’ll need to be on your best behaviour. All three of you.” He then looked at his youngest child. “Especially you, Louise.”

“So does that mean that if we don’t behave we don’t have to go?”

“No, you’re definitely going.” Bob said, and went back to grilling the burgers.

Louise groaned. “Fine.”

“Who knows, Louise, it could be fun.” Tina said, trying to cheer up her younger sister. Louise scoffed.

“Yeah, Tina, I'm sure it’ll be sooo much fun.”

“It could be.” Gene said, walking out of the employee bathroom in his burger costume. “Maybe we’ll meet someone interesting and learn something; like how I just learned that I look even better in this burger suit with my pants off!”

“Gene put your pants back on!” Bob scolded.

“No!”

“Besides, all those psychiatrists under one roof? Oh, I bet it’ll be like an episode of Frasier!”

“I love that show.” said a customer who was sitting in the booth next to Linda, and the two of them got into a deep conversation about the show while the kids were forced to go back to work.

#animaniacs #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #yakko wakko and dot #bob burgers #tina belcher #gene belcher #louise belcher

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lucyreviewcy · 4 years ago

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The Three Three Musketeers (or Where The F*ck Did All The Stupid Hats Go)

I read The Three Musketeers and then I watched the 1973, 1993 and 2011 adaptations. Which one wins tho?

Adaptation is a fascinating concept, especially of texts which are frequently adapted or parodied. After I rewatched the 2005 Pride and Prejudice I was reminded how weirdly divisive the two dominant adaptations of that book are. A lot of people consider the 2005 to be an inferior betrayal of the 1990s BBC version. I actually prefer the 2005 because I think Matthew McFadyen’s Mr Darcy is a wonderfully complex character. McFadyen imbues Darcy with social awkwardness and anxiety, which Lizzie misinterprets as his pride. To overcome the “Lizzie doesn’t fancy him ‘til she sees his house” debate, director Joe Wright includes a moment where Lizzie glimpses Darcy alone with his sister. He’s comfortable, his body language is completely different, and he’s smiling broadly. That moment really sold me on the entire film because it made Darcy a full character and was a really simple addition that rounded out the story. I still like the 90s version but for me, it’s the 2005 that takes first place. (Although an honourable mention for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies because it is an excellent romp.)

Look: adaptation is always a complicated topic. You can’t untangle one adaptation from another, because it’s pretty rare that somebody adapting a classic text like Pride and Prejudice or The Three Musketeers is not already familiar with existing adaptations. The most recent adaptation of any classic text is not simply an adaptation of that text, but the next step in a flow chart that includes all the previous adaptations and the cultural context of the newly created product. These three adaptations of Dumas’ 1844 novel are all texturally and stylistically very different, and two of them diverge significantly from the original text. What I found truly fascinating was what all of them had in common, and what each new era (these were made at around 20 year intervals) decides to add or remove. What do all these movies agree are the essential parts of the story, and what are some adaptations more squeamish about including from Dumas’ original narrative?

Before we dive in, no I have not seen every single adaptation of the story, that would be a dissertation level of research and I do actually have things to do right now (although, I will admit...not many.) I’m looking at these three Hollywood adaptations because they all had star studded casts (for the era they were made in), they’re all English language, and (crucially) they were all easily available on the internet for me to stream.

What are the essential ingredients of a Three Musketeers adaptation?

Firstly, there should be at least three musketeers. Secondly, D’Artagnan (Michael York 1973, Chris O’Donnell 1993, Logan Lerman 2011) should be a young upstart who is introduced part way through a sword fight. He should also have silly hair. He is also consistently introduced to the musketeers in all three films by challenging them each individually to duels at noon, one o’clock and two o’clock.

The films all maintained some elements of the original “Queen’s Diamonds” storyline, and featured the Queen, Milady and Constance. The characterisation of these three varied a lot.

Our villains in each case are invariably the Cardinal, his pal Rochefort (who always has an eyepatch, although this trope is not in the book and is actually attributable to the way Christopher Lee is styled in the 1973 film), and Milady de Winter. Satisfyingly, at least two of the villains usually wear red because they’re bad. Red is for bad.

All three are very swashbuckling in tone, have elements of physical comedy, and two of them include one of the three valet characters Dumas wrote into the original story, Planchet (1973 Roy Kinnear, 2011 James “ugh why” Corden). They also all bear the generic markings of the movies made during the same era, our 70s D’Artagnan feels like a prototype Luke Skywalker. The 90s version features a random martial arts performer. The 2011 version has CGI and James Corden in equal measure (read: far too much of both.)

What are the big differences?

I’m going to divide this category into three main segments: character, story and style. My own three musketeers, the three musketeers of movie making.

Character

D’Artagnan

D’artagnan in the book comes across as a pretty comical figure. He’s nineteen and there’s something satisfying about how similar Dumas’ caricature of a nineteen year old is to a modern character of the same age. He’s overconfident, has a simplistic but concrete set of morals, and falls in love with every woman he sees. If D’Artagnan were a 2021 character, he’d really hate The Last Jedi, is what I’m saying. He’d definitely have a tumblr blog, probably a lot like this one, but perhaps a scooch more earnest. He really loved The Lighthouse but he can’t explain why. Isn’t it nice to know that awkward nineteen year olds have been pretty much the same for the last three hundred years at least?

In all three films he’s kind of irritating, but at least in the 1973 this feels deliberate. This version has a certain “Carry On Musketeering” quality to it and D’Artagnan is your pantomime principal, he’s extremely naïve and he takes himself very seriously. This is the closest D’Artagnan to the book, and the 1973 is, in general, the film which adheres most faithfully to that source material.

The 1993, which is (spoiler alert) my least favourite adaptation, has Chris O’Donnell as the least likeable D’Artagnan I’ve come across. I’ve only seen O’Donnell in one other thing, the Al Pacino movie Scent of a Woman. He’s bearable in that because he’s opposite Al Pacino, and so his wide-eyed innocence makes sense as a contrast to Pacino’s aged hoo-ah cynicism. Rather than being introduced in a practice sword fight with his father, as in the other two films, D’Artagnan is fighting the brother of an ex-lover. This captures the problem with the film in general: this adaptation wants D’Artagnan to be cool. He is not. The comedy of the 1973, and indeed the book, comes from D’Artagnan being deeply uncool, and from his blind idolisation of the deeply flawed Musketeers who actually are cool, but not necessarily heroic, or even good people. Their moral greyness contrasts with D’Artagnan’s defined sense of right and wrong, but he still considers them to be role models and heroes.

2011′s version also suffers from “Cool D’Artagnan” syndrome, with the added annoyance of that most Marvel of tropes: the quip. One of the real issues with this film is that the dialogue has a lot of forced quippery that doesn’t quite land, and the editing slows the pace of the entire film. D’Artagnan’s first interaction with Constance is a bad attempt at wit which Constance points out isn’t very funny. The problem is that Constance has no personality so there’s no real indication that she’s in any position to judge his level of wit. She’s just vague, blonde and there: three characteristics which describe an entire pantheon of badly written female characters throughout the ages. Cool D’Artagnan also means that Constance should be additionally cool, because in the book, Constance is older than, smarter than and over-all more in charge than D’Artagnan.

Female Characters

Let’s go into this with an open mind that understands all these films were made in the sociological context of their decade. The 1973 version would absolutely not be made in the same way now. Constance is a clumsy cartoon character who is forever falling over and accidentally sticking her breasts out. This is not the character from the books, but does at least leave an impression on the viewer one way or another.

In contrast, the 1993 has a Constance so forgettable I literally cannot picture her. I think she holds D’Artagnan’s hand at the end. That’s all I can say on the subject.

The 2011 has Gabriella Wilde in the role, and absolutely wastes her. Anyone who’s seen her in Poldark knows that she can do sharp-tongued beautiful wit-princess with ease. It’s the writing of this film that lets her down, in general, that’s the problem with it. The storyline and design are great, but the actual dialogue lacks the pace and bite that a quip-ridden star vehicle needs. This Constance is given simultaneously more and less to do than the Constance of the original book, who demonstrates at every turn the superiority of her intellect over D’Artagnan, but doesn’t get to pretend to be a Musketeer and whip her hat off to show her flowing golden hair like she does in the 2011.

The best character, for my money, in The Three Musketeers is Milady de Winter. Even Dumas got so obsessed with her that there are full chapters of the book written from pretty much her perspective. In the book, she’s described as a terrifying genius with powers of persuasion so potent that any jailor she speaks to must be instantly replaced. My favourite Milady is absolutely Faye Dunaway from 1973. She’s ferocious and beautiful and ruthless, but potentially looks even better because the portrayals in the other films are so very bad.

The 1993 version has your typical blonde 90s baddie woman (Rebecca De Mornay), she wouldn’t look out of place as a scary girlfriend in an episode of Friends or Frasier. 2011 boasts Milla Jovovich who presents us a much more physical version of the character, even doing an awkwardly shoe-horned anachronistic hall of lasers a la Entrapment except instead of lasers its really thin pieces of glass? The “yeah but it looks cool” attitude to anachronism in this film is what makes it fun, and Jovovich’s Milady isn’t awful, she’s just let down by a plot point that she shares with 1993 Milady. Both these adaptations get really hooked on the fact that Athos used to be married to Milady at one time (conveniently leaving out the less justifiable character point that Athos TRIED TO HANG HER when he found out she had been branded as a thief - doesn’t wash so well with the modern audiences, I think.) Rather than hating/fearing Milady, the two modern adaptations suggest that Athos is still in love with her and pines for her. This detracts from Athos’ character just as much as it detracts from Milady’s. Interestingly, and I don’t know where this came from (if it was in the book I definitely missed it), both films feature a confrontation between the two where Athos points a gun at Milady but she pre-empts him by throwing herself off a cliff (or in the 2011, an air-ship.) I think both these versions were concerned that Milady was an anti-feminist character because she’s so wantonly evil, but I disagree. Equality means it is absolutely possible for Milady to be thoroughly evil and hated by the musketeers just as much as they hate Rochefort and the Cardinal. If you want to sort out the gender issues with this story, round Constance out and give her proper dialogue, don’t make Milady go weak at the knees because of whiny Athos (both Athos characters are exceedingly whiny, 1973 Athos is just...mashed).

The Musketeers

These guys are pretty important to get right in a film called The Three Musketeers. They have to be flawed, funny but kind of cool. Richard Chamberlain is an absolute dish in the 1973 version, capturing all those qualities in one. Is it clear which version is my favourite yet?

Athos is played variously by a totally hammered Oliver Reed (1973), a ginger-bearded Kiefer Sutherland (1993) and a badly bewigged Matthew McFadyen (2011). They all have in common the role of being the most level-headed character, but the focus on the relationship between Athos and Milady in the 93 and 11 editions undermines this a lot. Athos should be cool and aloof, instead of mooning over Milady the entire time. The 2011 gives Athos some painfully “edgy” lines like “I believe in this (points at wine) this (flicks coin) and this (stabs coin with knife.)...” which McFadyen ( once oh so perfect as Mr Darcy) doesn’t quite pull off.

Porthos seems to be the musketeer who is the most different between interpretations. A foppish dandy in the 1973, a pirate (!?!) in the 1993, and then just...large in 2011. I think the mistake made in the 2011 is that large alone does not a personality make. There are hints at Porthos’ characterisation from the book: his dependence on rich women for money and his love of fine clothing, but these are only included as part of his introduction and never crop up again through the rest of the film. Pirate Porthos in 1993 is... you know what, fine, you guys were clearly throwing everything at the wall and seeing what stuck.

Aramis is our dishy Richard Chamberlain in 1973, followed by womanising Charlie Sheen in 1993 and then strikingly suave Luke Evans in 2011. I actually didn’t mind Luke Evans’ interpretation, his dialogue is forgettable but his sleek charm stuck in my head. For some reason, this version has Aramis working as a parking attendant for horses, it worked for me as a fun A Knight’s Tale-esque bit of anachronistic character development. Charlie Sheen has never managed to appear likable or attractive to me and so his role in the 1993 falls flat. In fact, in that edition there’s not much distinction between the musketeers as characters and they’re all just very 90s and American. As anyone who’s read this blog before will expect, I think Keanu Reeves as Aramis would have really upped this film’s game. In fact, Keanu Reeves as Aramis, Brad Pitt as Athos and Will Smith as Porthos could have been the ultimate 90s adaptation, throw in DiCaprio as D’Artagnan and Roger Allam as the Cardinal and I’m fully sold.

The King and Queen

All three films try and do the “Queen’s Diamonds” storyline, but only the 1973 actually includes the Queen’s affair with Buckingham. The queen, played by Geraldine Chaplin, is a tragic romantic figure (she doesn’t have a tonne to do besides being wistful and sighing over Lord Buckingham). The king is played as a frivolous idiot by Jean-Pierre Cassel (voice dubbed by Richard Briers). He doesn’t really think of the queen as a person, more as a possession that he doesn’t want Buckingham to have.

In the 1993 version, Buckingham doesn’t really feature, and it’s the queen’s refusal to get off with the Cardinal that prompts his fury at her. The book does touch on the Cardinal’s desire for the queen, but it’s placed front and centre in 1993. This is definitely the boobsiest version, with quite a lot of corsetry on show and a cardinal who hits on literally all the women. The king is shown as a stroppy teenage boy under the thumb of the cardinal, who just wants to ask the queen to the dance but doesn’t have the nerve. The king is, essentially, a Fall Out Boy lyric.

The 2011 also seems to be really squeamish about the idea of the queen having an extramarital affair. It paints Buckingham (played with excellent wig and aplomb by Orlando Bloom) as a stylish villain, who’s advances the queen has rejected. Like the 1993 version, the King is a feckless youth rendered speechless by the presence of his wife. Both these versions want the King and Queen to be happy together, while the 1973 doesn’t give a fuck.

The Cardinal and his Cronies

The cardinal is kind of universally an evil creepy guy. One of the characters from the 1973 version who actually left the least impression on me, played by Charlton Heston. I think he’s overshadowed in my recollection by cartoonishly evil Christopher Lee as Rochefort. Lee’s Rochefort is dark, mysterious and wonderfully bad, and so influential that all other incarnations’ design is based on him. The 1993 version had truly over the top Michael Wincott as a character I could honestly refer to as Darth Rochefort from the way he’s framed, while 2011 boasts a chronically underused Mads Mikkelsen in the role.

Cardinal-wise, 1993 was my favourite with Tim Curry in all his ecclesiastical splendour. It was disappointing that everything about this film, including the Cardinal’s sexual harassment of every single female character, really didn’t work for me. Tim Curry is a natural choice for this role and gives it his campy all.

2011 has not one but two trendy bond villain actors, with Mikkelsen working alongside Christoph Waltz who was...just kind of fine. I was really excited when he appeared but he didn’t really push the character far enough and left me cold.

Story

The story is where the different adaptations diverge most completely. 1973 follows the plot of the novel, D’Artagnan comes to Paris, befriends the Musketeers and becomes embroiled in a plot by the Cardinal to expose the Queen’s affair with Buckingham through the theft of two diamond studs. D’Artagnan, aided partially by the musketeers, must travel to London to retrieve the set of twelve studs gifted by the King to the Queen, and by the Queen to Buckingham. He does so, the plot is foiled, he’s made into a musketeer! Hurrah, tankards all round.

The 1993 version drops D’Artagnan into the story just as the Cardinal has disbanded the Musketeers. I found the plot of this one really hard to follow and I think at some point D’Artagnan ended up in the Bastille? There was this whole plot point about how Rochefort had killed D’Artagnan’s father. In the original, and in the 1973 version, D’Artagnan’s entire beef with Rochefort is rooted in a joke Rochefort makes about D’Artagnan’s horse. I guess for the producers of this one, a horse insult is not enough motivation for a lifelong grudge. That is really the problem with the entire film, it forgets that the story as told by Dumas is set in a world where men duel over such petty things as “criticising one’s horse”, “blocking one’s journey down a staircase” and “accusing one of having dropped a lady’s handkerchief.” The colour palette and styling are very 90s “fun fun fun”, but the portrayal of the cardinal and the endless angst about D’Artagnan’s father really dampen the mood.

The 2011 version, this is where the shit really hits the fan. We meet our musketeers as they collaborate with Milady to steal the blueprints for a flying ship (it’s like a piratecore zeppelin). Milady betrays them and gives the plans to Buckingham, they all become jaded and unemployed. D’Artagnan arrives on the scene (his American accent explained by the fact that he’s from a different part of France) and befriends the Musketeers. The cardinal tries to frame the queen for infidelity by having Milady steal her diamonds to hide them in Buckingham’s safe at the tower of London. Something something Constance, something something help me D’Artagnan you’re my only hope. MASSIVE AIRSHIP BATTLE. The king and queen have a dance. James Corden cracks wise.

It seems like as time has passed, producers, writers and directors have felt compelled to embellish the story. I think, specifically in the case of the two later versions, this is because they wanted the films to resemble the big successes of the period. Everybody knows no Disney hero can be in possession of both parents, so D’Artagnan is out to avenge his father like Simba or Luke Skywalker. In the 2011 version, the plot is overblown and overcomplicated in what seems like an attempt to replicate the success of both the Sherlock Holmes and Pirates of the Caribbean franchises. Remember the plot of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End? No, me neither.

Style

The style of these films grows increasingly wild along with the plots as time passes. The 1973 features a lot of slapstick comedy, some of which really made me cackle, and some of which was cringeworthily sexist (Constance’s boobs through the window of a litter.) That’s the 70s though! I love The Godfather but Diane Keaton’s character is unbelivably dull and annoying. Star Wars features a pretty good female character but she does end up in that bikini. The 70s seems to be a time of movies that were great except for their occasional headlong dive into misogyny. That doesn’t mean the entire movie is bad, it just means it’s suffering from the consequences of being made in the 70s. There were other consequences of this, I doubt many modern productions could get away with physically injuring so many of it’s cast members. From a glance down the IMDB trivia page, this film yielded a higher casualties to cast ratio than the My Chemical Romance Famous Last Words music video, and that’s a hard figure to top.

The 1993 version is a Disney feature and suffers from having a thin sheen (not Charlie in this instance) of “Disney Original Movie” pasted over every scene. It looks like The Parent Trap might be filming in the adjacent studio a lot of the time. The vibrancy of the colours makes the costumes look unrealistic, while the blandness of the female characters means this movie ends up a bit of a bland bro-fest. Also occasionally the sexual and violent moments really jar with the overall tone making it an uneven watch. One minute it’s Charlie Sheen cracking jokes about trying to get off with someone’s wife, the next minute you see Milady throw herself off a cliff and land on the rocks. Weird choices all round.

The 2011 version, as I’ve already mentioned, was trying to borrow its style from the success of Sherlock Holmes and Pirates of the Caribbean, with a little Ocean’s 11 thrown in. The soundtrack flips between not quite a Hans Zimmer score and not quite that other Hans Zimmer score, and after the success of Stardust it ends with a Take That song (for it to match up to the story it should have been Take That feat. Harry styles imho). Visually, there’s some fantastic travel by mapping going on, there’s far too much CGI (one of my friends pointed out that the canal in Venice seemed to be full of Flubber). Everyone is dressed in black leather, and there are not enough big hats at all. One of the best things about Musketeers films is that they’re an excuse for ridiculous hats, and in a film with a quite frankly insane visual style, I’m surprised the hats didn’t make it through. The cast, unfortunately, really lack chemistry which means the humorous dialogue is either stilted or James Corden, and the editing is just very strange. It’s one of those films that feels about as disjointed as an early morning dream, the one where you dream you’ve woken up, gotten dressed and fed the cat, but you actually are still in bed.

Conclusion

Adaptations focus on different things depending on the context they were created in. The 2005 Pride and Prejudice is deliberately “grittier” than its 1990s predecessor, at a stage when “grit” was everywhere (The Bourne Identity, Spooks, Constantine). The Musketeers adaptations demonstrate exactly the same thing: what people wanted in the 70s was bawdy comedy and slapstick with a likeable idiot hero, the 90s clearly called for... Charlie Sheen and bright colours, and the 2010s just want too much of everything and a soundtrack with lots of banging and crashing. The more modern adaptations simplified the female characters (although the 1973 version definitely is guilty of oversimplifying Constance) while over-complicating the plot. There’s a lot of embellishment going on in the 2011 version that suggests the film wasn’t very sure of itself, it pulls its plot punches while simultaneously blindly flailing its stylistic fists.

The film that works the best for me will always be the 1973 because it’s pretty straight down the line. Musketeers are good, Milady is evil, falling over is funny and the King’s an idiot. The later adaptations seem to be trying to fix problems with the story that the 1973 version just lets fly. The overcorrection of Milady and the under characterisation of Constance is the perfect example of this. If you want your Musketeers adaptation to be more feminist, don’t weaken Milady, strengthen Constance. Sometimes a competent female character is all that we need. A Constance who is like Florence Cassel from Death in Paradise or Ahn Young-yi from Misaeng could really pack a punch.

I adored the energy of the 2011 adaptation, I loved how madcap it was, I loved how it threw historical accuracy to the wind. I thought the king was adorable, and I really enjoyed seeing Orlando Bloom hamming it up as Buckingham. I was genuinely sad that the sequel the ending sets up for never came, because once they got out of the sticky dialogue and into the explosions, the film was great fun. It was a beautiful disaster that never quite came together, but I really enjoyed watching it. I love films that have a sense of wild chaos, some more successful examples are The Devil’s Advocate, Blow Dry and Lego Batman. I think the spirit of going all out on everything can sometimes result in the best cinematic experience, it’s just a shame the script wasn’t really up to muster for 2011 Musketeers.

I’m excited to see what the next big budget Musketeers adaptation brings, even if I’m going to have to wait another ten years to see it. I hope it’s directed by Chad Stahelski, that’d really float my boat (through the sky, like a zeppelin.)

#ThreeMusketeers #Three Musketeers #Adaptation #Movies #Film #The Three Musketeers

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mockingjayne12 · 5 years ago

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Take Me Home - Chapter 2

(Jamie x Claire / Outlander Fic)

(Chapter 1)

CHAPTER TWO:

A yawn escapes from her mouth, eyes closing, remnants of the makeup from last night land with a smear under her eyes, most of the dark smudges having done their damage as she slept, marking her face out to look something like a masked creature slinking through her shift. She goes to wipe at the straying eyeliner that refuses to relinquish its hold on letting everyone know that she was a complete mess.

Claire had woken up late, the sun already peeking in through the cheap blinds that were hanging when she’d moved in. A claw to the knee stung her awake with a hiss, a reminder that someone was hungry, and apparently could no longer wait to be fed. When she’d found the tiny kitten huddled by the dumpster behind the restaurant, she’d taken pity on the poor thing, lost, scrambling for food, not meant to survive - a kindred spirit of sorts. To think she’d thought a cat would be low maintenance. Oh, how wrong she’d found herself to be - but the responsibility had quickly turned into her reason for getting out of bed, functioning through the day - motivation to keep moving, if only to avoid those needle like claws from tearing into her - something to care for, something to care about.

She’d sighed, inspecting her knee - nothing deep, but she’d feel the sting with her all day long. Having tripped over her blankets as she made her way out of bed, her hair stood up in all directions, her shirt twisted, as if she’d been tossing and turning, nearly strangling herself in the material, and a distinct wet spot on her pillow that she could claim was from drool, but the black stain gave her tears away.

She’d groaned.

Great, another day.

She’d tried her best to pull her hair back into something that resembled a top knot, as she rushed into the restaurant, the errant curls refused to be tamed, instead adding to the effect of a thief in the night, one that inserted her foot into her mouth all too often, while scrounging for scraps from the rich that dared to tip her. One had even tried to insert a dollar, a dollar, into the pocket of her shirt, as if that were a normal thing. And unfortunately for her, it wasn’t the first time. She could still hear the ice clinking against his glass, and the clench of her jaw at the determined twinkle in his eye, like he’d paid for more than just the drink with that dollar.

“God, you look like shit,” Gillian greets her, causing Claire to choke on her scorching hot tea, spilling it down her white shirt.

“Fuck,” she grumbles, grabbing for a napkin to attempt to blot the now brown stain soaking through her already wrinkled attire. Seemingly doing more harm than good, she flops her hands down, tossing the napkin onto the counter. She was a lost cause at this point. In more way than one, she thought to herself. “Good morning to you too,” she sneers at her friend.

“Rough night?” Gillian giggles, her red hair bouncing with her laugh, teasing Claire, over what, she probably wasn’t even sure herself, but the red tinting covering Claire’s cheeks indicated that she was on the right track.

“No more than usual,” Claire tries to throw out, moving to the computer, quickly typing in her number to clock in, and then staring blankly ahead, pretending she had something else to do than talk to the woman that was about to start digging for information.

“You ran off pretty quickly last night,” she nearly sings. “Only a text to tell me you had a ride…” she trails off, waiting for Claire to answer.

“I uhh, didn’t feel well,” she coughs, the excuse sounding as fake as the cough she tried to pass off as real.

Gillian studies her face, and Claire raises a brow, daring her to say what she was thinking.

“Out with it,” she huffs, exiting the screen and turning to face her friend, who bites her lip while scanning over her body, making Claire flinch, wanting to cross her arms over herself, the scrutiny of her prying eyes completely unwanted, especially in her current state of disaster.

“Just checking to see if you’d fucked the actor,” Gillian shrugs, having come to her conclusion, a look of disappointment passing over her face.

Claire could’ve choked on her tongue.

“What!?” And with that, crosses her arms indignantly.

“Relax, I know you didn’t,” Gillian says completely sure of herself. “You’re much too uptight to have gotten some.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Claire shoots back, looking down at her shoes, tracing over the jagged line on her hand until she hears a whisper.

“But you wanted to.”

Claire’s head jerks up to the grinning redhead.

“N-no,” she says, almost stammering against the word. “No, I told you, I don’t do actors,” but as the words leave her mouth, she can taste the lie.

Gillian wears a knowing look on her face as she ties her apron around her waist.

“Eh, you’re not his type anyway, honey,” she grins, tossing her hair back in a move that nearly hits Claire in the face, leaving her standing by herself as the lunch rush begins to come in.

“I don’t want to be his type,” she mutters to herself, her face scrunching together in thought. Her tossing and turning the night before, a blur of red and blue, the feel of his hard chest still pressured solid against her fingers, the severity of his eyes threatening to drown her, and it sends a shiver down her spine at the familiarity she found herself encompassed in within his presence, one that she can’t quite place.

Glancing back, she sees customers coming in, and she quickly pulls out her phone before she has to get to work.

James Frasier.

Claire types the name into Google, and is quickly corrected that it’s James Fraser, no I.

She’s met with a slew of pictures of the curly haired Scot in various poses: working out, on the red carpet, staring into her soul through the screen with those blue eyes that she couldn’t seem to escape even when she closed her own eyes and willed the image to disappear. They’d been seared into her, and she could still feel the sting of the burn. Or maybe that was the tea seeping through to her chest.

Quickly scanning through the headlines, she finds that whoever this guy is, he’s incredibly well known. Thousands of results come up for his new film, which is apparently his great comeback from having been missing from the Hollywood scene for a while, to people speculating over which blonde of the week he was dating.

Gillian’s right, I’m not his type.

And she’s not quite sure if that’s a forlorn thought or one of relief, so she can finally put that night behind her, the one in which she’s embarrassed herself, and then spent the rest of the time walking around like she did in her life, under a banner of avoidance, ducking through people anytime he got remotely close to her, only for him to be pulled away by Mr. Bloody Ice-In-His-Whiskey Bastard. She’d almost felt bad for the guy, until she remembered that he was probably just like them. They all were. No, it was better if she just got back to living the half life she had going on.

Looking up, she sees the tables begin to fill quickly. Exiting her tab, she tosses her phone in her long apron pocket and heads out onto the floor to the first table in her section with only one patron, the menu held up high, sitting at a table for four.

Great, she mumbles under her breath, seeing her tip dramatically drop.

“Hi, I’m Claire, I’ll be your waitress today, what can I get started for—“

The customer drops his menu and she’s met with the same blue eyes from last night, a rush of heat blooming against her cheeks, the same as the red curls, more wild than last night, like he’d forgone combing them before heading out that day.

“You…” she says, more attitude than intended, suddenly becoming all too aware of what she must look like - tea stained, wrinkled shirt, untamable curls, smudged makeup unmissable blush. “Fuck.”

And it doesn’t hit her she’s said that aloud until she hears his laugh.

“Sassenach,” he says with the same perfect grin he’d worn the night before.

It was right about then she wished a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #claire fraser #jamie x claire

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veronicamarsconfessions · 4 years ago

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I was hugely excited by the announcement that a fourth season of teen noir show Veronica Mars was going to be made, nearly fifteen years after the show’s initial air date (and cancellation after three seasons), and five years after the crowdfunded movie came out. As soon as the show dropped on Hulu (or Stan, if you’re in Australia like me) – a week earlier than initially slated, I rushed to watch it. And I was so distraught by the ending that it genuinely took two days for my mood to return to something even vaguely resembling ‘okay’.

For those of you who haven’t seen it *SPOILERS FROM HERE ON*,

season four has Veronica (Kristen Bell) chasing down a serial bomber who seems to be trying to destroy the Spring Break business in Neptune. It turns out that the first bomb was set by property developer ‘Big’ Dick Casablancas, trying to destroy the Spring Break business in order to buy the waterfront properties cheaply, and the subsequent bombs were set by a pizza delivery man, Penn Epner (Patton Oswalt), who fancies himself a detective and is out to find glory after he is initially ridiculed for his public accusation of an incorrect suspect. The season itself had several issues (one of them being some seriously murky motivations behind Epner’s behaviour, like, if he really was that much of a genius, why was he a pizza delivery man?, and that the people ultimately behind the crimes are more or less ‘hidden in plain sight’ all along, which is a disappointing departure from the way the initial seasons cleverly hid the villain until quite late in proceedings). However, the issue for which there is not enough therapy in the world to appease me is the season’s last-minute killing off of reformed bad-boy and Veronica’s long-time boyfriend, Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring), right after they finally got married.

Series creator and showrunner, Rob Thomas, justified this decision by saying ‘I know this seems crazy or harsh but Veronica is at her best when she’s an underdog and I don’t know that there’s much to root for if she’s now got a perfect relationship. I need to keep her fighting and I need to keep her a little bit uncomfortable in order to have a show. There’s nothing funny or interesting about perfection.’

Except that’s a deeply flawed understanding of how relationships function, and a deeply messed up thing to push on to people.

It’s fair to acknowledge that once the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ is resolved, TV shows often decline in quality, or at the very least, significantly depart from the original formula which made them into such beloved hits at their beginning. But there are two significant issues with this: First, the assumption that TV shows must remain the same in order to be good. There are some interesting observations that the job of the sitcom episode (in particular) is to return all characters to more or less their original starting points. While that is broadly true, TV shows, like life, need to evolve in order to stay interesting, and as across seasons, audiences grow alongside the characters they watch evolve and mature.

Nevertheless, it was fair for Thomas to note that the characterisation of Veronica is someone who is embittered and cynical about people’s fidelity and inherent goodness – after all, when we first meet her at the age of sixteen, her best friend has been brutally murdered, she’s been raped, her alcoholic mother has upped and left, and her adored father and moral compass has been socially ostracised for a) doing his job and b) being not super wealthy. It’s a lot. Veronica’s very understandable trust issues are compounded by the moonlighting she does as a P.I where, to she regularly sees people cheating on one another and generally behaving in unpleasant ways. So it’s reasonable to point out that for Veronica, the notion of the ‘happily ever after’ is a deeply uncomfortable one. But to keep her in the same mindset as she was at aged 16 is to deny her the capacity to grow as a character.

It’s fair that there was a desire to avoid repeating the pattern previously established (withdrawn/bitter etc), but – and here is my ultimate point – that could have been avoided.

Some of the most complex and interesting storylines come from couples who get together and have to navigate relationships; compromising to fit together, find a way to make it work. Think about the evolution of Niles and Daphne’s relationship in Frasier (and leave aside some of the aspects to his earlier infatuation with her that seem distinctly distasteful in a post-#metoo world). While much of the humour between them in earlier seasons was because of his unrealised ardour for her, after they became a couple, the hardships they navigated through being a couple, and the deepening richness of their relationship that was both romantic and based in friendship, produced some truly hilarious moments. Similarly, one of my (and our fabulous Chief Nerd, Elise’s) favourite TV shows, Chuck, *SPOILER* has the two leads get together in season 3. The show was no lesser for that fact because as Chuck and Sarah’s relationship deepened, they explored facets of themselves that they hadn’t previously shown – it provided more material for the writers, not less.

One of my favourite articles on the ending of Veronica Mars, season four, pointed out that Logan has the most interesting character development because he works to better himself – he has come a long way from the miscreant teenager who organised ‘bum fights’, and he had the potential to become an even more interesting character. How this interacted with Veronica’s cynicism could have provided significant fodder for more story.

But, giving full credit to Rob Thomas for a moment here, the show is called Veronica Mars, not Logan Echolls. So the decision to axe Logan was made to push Veronica’s character development forward, especially given the shows position as a gender-flipped noir which so often has the embittered, cynical detective dealing with the ongoing pain of a tragically killed love.

But the problem is that I can’t actually see how this is going to do anything but ossify Veronica’s primary characteristics: bitter, a hardnosed and reckless desire to catch the bad guy at any cost. Moreover, in most of the noir detective stories, this love has died before we meet the hard-bitten detective.

Thomas said to The Hollywood Reporter, “Moving forward, we’re going to really build around [the idea that] the case is the thing and less of the soap opera of Veronica’s life.” Except Veronica Mars is all about character. Her interactions with her father, Keith (Enrico Colantoni) and the genuine bond of affection between them evokes some of the show’s most poignant interactions. Her internal struggle when the pursuit of justice comes up against questions of morality is inherent grounded in her character. One of its most interest aspects across the years is that Veronica is often wrong. She falsely accuses people (including Logan himself), she behaves badly, she takes her friends for granted, and she can be reckless to the point where she endangers herself and someone has to come in and rescue her (case in point: wandering into the base of an Irish gang that had a particular grudge against her father). So to strip away the elements to the story that allow for depiction and consideration of those complexities would be to lose much of the show’s point.

There’s also a part of me that feels the way in which Logan was killed feels personal. Logan and Veronica were never initially meant to get together, but in the first episodes, the chemistry between the characters, and Kristen Bell and Jason Dohring was so profound that it was written in. I might be putting on my tin foil hat to say this, but it feels as though Thomas resented the manner in which LoVe became such a pivotal part of the Veronica Mars ‘brand’. What really underpins that for me is that the way the series sent off other characters was considered, and gave them a certain ‘exit’. The way in which Logan was killed off feels almost like an afterthought, made more so by some of the questions that arise from the manner. How did he know that she would be in it when it actually blew up? Moreover, the convenience of him leaving a voicemail for his therapist about why he wanted to marry Veronica (why exactly would he call his therapist to tell him about his epiphany? Who has that kind of relationship with their therapist?), and this woman’s decision to keep it from Veronica for a year seems weirdly contrived. Because it was.

However, to be fair, one could claim that the season mistreated some of its other characters, too. Tina Majorino who plays Cindy ‘Mac’ Mackenzie specifically noted that she did not want to return because she did not want her character to be sidelined. Similarly, the complexity to Eli ‘Weevil’ Navaro’s character was stripped away, as was the depth of his relationship with Veronica. What’s worse is that this could have been a really interesting storyline; why he decided to walk away from the court case which would have seen him awarded with compensation for what happened to him in the movie. While we are told that his wife left him along with his child, prompting him to return to his old gang-running ways, the depth of his grief and the reputable life he lost were never really portrayed. Honestly, I would have preferred that rather than the convoluted storyline that involved Mexican cartel hitmen.

But beyond my argument as a writer as to why Logan’s death was a totally unnecessary element to bring in, it also feels like a real slap in the face to fans. I’ve previously talked about the relationship this show has with its fans. Realistically, season 4…hell, the movie, only existed because of the love and support fans showed the show.

Any narrative material exists to interact with fans. Obviously, there is a fine line that can cross into blatant pandering, and there is also a trend that offers a ‘gritty’ or ‘sad’ end (ie the tragic death of the lover), but it’s a balance.

The Veronica Mars movie was very much fan service – it was, after all, fan funded. Much of the movie’s contents and storyline were determined by what Thomas was seeing from fan comments on social media, noting “I did have an idea of things people wanted to see, characters I wanted to get an appearance in, whether it felt extraneous or not.” He added, “there’s no way in the world we would have had a fan-funded movie and I would have killed Logan,” he added.

In the same interview, he said, “I fear that leaning into the high school soap that the show started out as is a losing proposition, that it will start feeling nostalgic rather than vital. If Kristen [Bell] and I want to make more of these Veronica Mars mysteries, I think it’s going to survive best as a true mystery show with a badass PI at the center of it, and I think that works better if the PI doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Yet for a show whose who schtick was challenging the noir detective genre, it seems the prospect that someone fundamentally gritty and damaged can also have a relationship that the struggle to be healthy was simply a bridge too far.

And at the crux of it, what really frustrates me – as a fan, and as a writer – is that for Thomas, it simply felt too hard to give Logan and Veronica an enduring relationship, and it if wasn’t too difficult, then he perceived it destroyed some fundamental part of the show by making it emotionally sappy. If that’s the dichotomy in which Thomas thinks, then Veronica Mars is no longer the show which attracted its die-hard following of fans and may as well be a different show with a similar premise.

#Veronica Mars #Rob Thomas #Kristen Bell #Logan Echolls #Jason Dohring #news

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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Fanfic Weekly Roundup 9/14/2020:

Okay, it’s been, like, 2 months since I did one of these, and I apologize for that, but also, August was like... really dry at the old fanfic well? And I’ve been working my ass off for the last three week (at... what, exactly, Polynya? It is hard to say) Anyway, here’s some fanfics that I liked. Hopefully, it won’t take another 2 months before we have another.

I think I missed this one when it first came out (otherwise, it would have made the last roundup... I write these by going back through my AO3 history), but The Bet, by @lethanwolf was really cute! It was by an author who doesn’t usually go for RenRuki, but wrote it for a friend, and I really respect stretching like that, and they did a great job!

I was here first by tasteoftheforbidden is a Byakuya/Soi Fon story and I cannot imagine why I clicked on it in the first place, but it was really cute??? Like, at first they are really grumpy, and then they are like, “ah, I respect what a grump you are” and then they eat snacks. It worked. I was delighted by it, perhaps you will be as well.

Here We Meet Again by @marlasinger93-blog is just getting started, but the first chapter is really, really cute! It’s a Rukia and Renji awkwardly reconnecting after the Soul Society Arc, which I will openly admit I have an endless appetite for. I helped translate it, and I hope there will be more eventually!

I feel like I mentioned Captivate, by before @kissedbynightshade, but I couldn’t find it, so I will mention it now! It’s a little bit high concept-- it’s a modern AU where Izuru has the power to jump back in time-- usually a few minutes-- to prevent tragedy from occurring. However, after Rangiku is killed, he jumps all the way back to his teenhood, where he has the possibility to prevent deaths of Renji, Momo, and Shuuhei. It’s not actually very hard to follow, and it is an amazing mood piece. Just really chewy, poetic, melancholy Izuru (who is trans in this story; it is just sort of slid in there very naturally and it works), with a heavy dose of mystery. It is, as they say, my jam.

Is it time for the @kazeshini-s section of the roundup? We have two this time!:

Personal Questions features Orihime digging into those burning questions about how shinigami function that we all want the answer to.

Cut a Deal (We’re All Gonna Die Anyway) is Advance Team Arc fic about Orihime going to Soul Society to train with Rukia and I admit I requested it and I don’t care it was SO GOOD. Features both Orihime & Renji bonding AND Orihime & Rukia bonding, what more could you ask for???

These two are not on AO3, but do not sleep on this one where Chad Makes Renji a Burrito or this Karakura Kids Cuddle Puddle.

time in a bottle by atlntyda is a fairly short, Orihime introspection piece, but I really liked it!

Somebody to Someone by @jkrobertson Excuse me, did someone say lieutenant friendship fic? This is my love language.

Squad 4's Pregnancy Guide for the Unwed Shinigami by manonlechat is a very silly fic where Gin is a gremlin and Matsumoto is like “well, this might as well happen.” I got a good laugh out of it.

In Between Days by @spyder-m Renji birthday fic! Renji birthday fic! Renji reflects on 40 years worth of birthdays, with and without Rukia.

the one to someone by @shamelessllamapeanutthing After the Soul Society Arc, Rukia chews over who she wants to be and who she wants to be with. Ugh, I loved this one. Great character work on Rukia, and very good and sexy banter with Renji. I am extremely bad at writing sexual tension, and I am jealous of the chemistry here. (I am very good at two-halves-of-one-idiot, and I am thankful for that, but every once in a while, it would be nice...sigh)

Icy Summits by Chaotic Dreamer was a very cute story about Renji and Rukia going on a mission as lieutenants together, shortly after they start dating. What I liked about this, is that the tension of the story is based on them both trying to do what they think is best, and they talk it out in a really healthy way, and that shit clears my pores and whitens my teeth.

Anchor and Vulnerable by squeaker_deaker. Renruki family drabbles. Real, actual-100-words drabbles. I could never. How.

We all know how I feel about ByaRen fic-- I don’t care for the pairing very extremely specific reasons, but I like both characters so much that I will occasionally read one if I think the characterization is gonna be real good (shippers be doin’ characterization, I said it). Anyway, I saw the tags “scenery porn” and “samurai do samurai things” on Heart Tangled by Grizmelder (there is a grizmelder on Tumblr who I think might be the same person, but I am afraid to tag them in case they aren’t although I just followed them because as I was scrolling thru their blog, I found both Brendan Frasier content and the LOTR Volvo meme, so obvs they are cool and I really hope they don’t click on my blog and say “who is this anime weirdo?”). Anyway, look, if you are a Period Drama Slut like me, you gotta read this. Friends, I shipped it. It’s an AU, of course, and it somehow manages to circumvent all my canon ByaRen hangups and I don’t know who I am any more. It’s just... costumes and hair and archery and poetry and longing and sexiness. The latest chapter was epistolary. Oh, right, there is actual porn in it also, you have been warned. (also period-accurate homophobia and suicide refs, it’s a pretty serious and heart-wrenching story)

I know I am always on here, shilling The Thin Red Line. The last few chapters were absolute fire, and it was absolutely the high point of my week when a new one went up. The author, who is A_Fine_Piece on AO3 and Crimson Bttrfly on ff.net, recently announced she is discontinuing it after she got some harsh comments, and also deleted her Tumblr. I am absolutely devastated by this. She wasn’t someone I knew super-well, but we responded to each other’s comments and I really liked her. This was actually the second time this week I heard about someone getting negative fanfic comments, and all I’ll say about that is, if you’re reading a fanfic and you hate everything about it, why don’t you give yourself the gift of closing the tab and not saying anything at all? I can’t even imagine what someone could criticize about this fic, it is so well-crafted and beautifully written. I am so, so mad about this. Please leave a kind comment for an author you love this week, if you can. Writing fanfic is pretty thankless compared to the amount of effort that goes into it, we gotta protect and cherish our authors (and artists, too, for that matter!). My poor, weak heart cannot take any more of my faves quitting.

#bleach fanfic #polynya weekly fanfic roundup #phew this was exhausting #i... should be more on top of things #but that is true generally #thank you to all these fanfic heroes #i cannot imagine what i would do without you

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zoey-wades · 4 years ago

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Honeymoon (King Liam x MC)

Rating: M (Drug Use, Substance Abuse, Violence, Self-Inflicted Violence)

Characters: Dark!Liam Rys x Dark!Lyra Frasier (MC) x Dark!Drake Walker

Summary: Fresh out of school and trying to figure things out, Lyra Frasier spends her weekdays going to a job she hates and her weekends in a drug fueled haze. And then she meets golden boy Liam. Lyra soon realizes that the violent underbelly of New York City’s elite may be more than she can handle.

Author’s Note: I haven’t updated this thing since uh......last year? I’m bad at making a writing schedule for myself. I think, the way TRR has been going as a series, I just haven’t had the motivation. But when I separate this world from that one, it helps a bit more.

Honeymoon Series

ooo. Prologue.

oo1. Honeymoon.

oo2. Midnight City.

--x--

oo3. C.R.E.A.M.

It was bad enough that Liam’s father was ill; he also had to be stubborn as fuck.

Liam winced as his ailing father lifted the shaking glass of whiskey to his lips, determined to keep drinking despite what the doctor and his wife told him about the effects on his body. Liam cleared his throat, earning a single passive glance from his father across the desk.

“Oh come on,” Constantine groaned, licking the droplets of liquor from his chin, “Not you, too. I don’t need anymore shit about what I do in my free time.”

Unwilling to take advice from those he deemed inexperienced, Constantine was an unwavering force in a world of deeply complicated decisions. Liam patiently rested his folded hands in his lap, training his expression to convey as much stoicism as he could in the given circumstance.

“You don’t seem to understand that this,” he motioned towards the glass, “is the reason why Sebastian Clark was able to fly under your radar for so long? What would’ve happened if Walker and I hadn’t figured him out? Who knows what he could’ve gotten away with--”

“That rotten, coked out fucker,” Constantine spat with a wave of the hand, “Good riddance. I didn’t need him poisoning my ranks with his bullshit.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain,” Liam leaned forward in his seat, speaking slowly to emphasize his next point, “We don’t know that he hasn’t. And the fact that he was in your ranks for as long as he had should be worrisome. Who knows what else is going on that we don’t know about.”

“My men are loyal to me,” Constantine stated plainly, “One bad apple doesn’t always spoil the lot.”

At the age of 67, he’d been away from the action for quite some time. Evidence of a hard youth decorated his face and body in the form of scars and bones that didn’t quite heal correctly. Liam couldn’t remember a time when his father didn’t look tired. If he hadn’t seen a photo of a young Constantine with his own eyes, he’d believe the man just came into this world with a shock of white hair and bloodshot eyes. His stepmother half-joked that Liam’s older brother, Leo, caused their father to gray prematurely with his gambling and sex addictions.

On the other hand, Leo had to get it from somewhere.

Liam watched his father struggle to take another sip from his glass before averting his gaze to a family photo on his father’s desk. Teenage Justin and Liam sat side-by-side, unsmiling, with neatly pressed suits on in front of their equally serious fathers. Why Constantine kept that particular photo on his desk, Liam never understood. Nothing about it exuded warmth.

“Did Justin ever talk about a girl around you?” Liam suddenly asked, refocusing on his father who swirled his whiskey in deep thought.

“A girl?” He repeated in thought, “Once or twice. Usually he was asking advice on how to keep them tamed, you know?”

Constantine attempted a conspiratorial smile that Liam didn’t reciprocate.

“Did he mention any specific names?” Liam pressed on, “Or descriptors?”

Constantine raised a brow and sat the sweating glass on a wooden coaster, “What is this about?”

What was this about? Liam wasn’t entirely sure. There was something about the girl, Lyra, that intrigued him. How was she able to dip in and out of their world so easily without leaving any footprints behind? Who did she know?

After dropping her off back home the previous afternoon, Liam did some quick research into who she was. Aside from a few high school choir competition press reels, she was an otherwise ordinary woman.

“Well I...” Liam chose his words carefully, “ran into Justin at the bar, talking to a girl. You know we never really see him with anyone. So I was just curious.”

There was a brief pause between the two men, and the grin returned to Constantine’s face, “A hot piece of ass, huh? Thinking of getting in there?”

Liam said nothing, but fidgeted with the rings on his fingers. His father wasn’t technically wrong. But god damn if the wording didn’t make him feel like the grossest piece of shit.

He decided to drop the subject for another time.

“Sorry to push us off topic, Dad,” Liam quickly corrected, “But, back to my original point...how do you know for sure Clark was the only shady one in the group?”

Constantine considered this, tapping his pen on the wooden desktop, “What reason would I give them to turn their backs on me? I’ve been with these men for well over 30 years, I fed them,” he counted on his fingers, “clothed them, put their kids through school, made them dukes in their own respects. They made their names on my back, and they think they’re gonna fuck me over!”

The sudden exclamation caused the man to cough violently into his arm and then into a handkerchief. Liam instinctively jumped to his feet, and rushed across the room to fetch a glass of water for his father.

“I’m fine!” Constantine croaked, attempting to catch his breath, “I just got a bit overexcited.”

Despite his protests, Constantine took the glass and sipped from it slowly. It hurt Liam to see his father deteriorating so quickly. A part of him felt like Constantine believed himself to be invincible. A smaller part of Liam felt like his father was simply just giving up. He had to put on an air of confidence, as he was at the top of the pyramid and could not show weakness. But as he grew older, cracks in the foundation began to form. Cracks that Liam had been working to seal.

Liam loved his father. There was no doubt about that. But every day the work grew more difficult. Liam could almost envision the empire crumbling at his father’s feet, all because he was too stubborn to fix the loose bricks.

As if reading his mind, Constantine sat the glass down and looked over his son, “You do know that I love you, right, kiddo?”

There was a faraway look in his eyes, a look Liam saw once in a while. And he always wondered where Constantine went when that happened.

“Yeah, I know, dad.”

Sadness darkened his father’s features, “Despite the issues that your mother and I had,” he cleared his throat, “I did love her. And I think you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m always going to be proud of you.”

A pit formed in Liam’s stomach and he reached across to grab his father’s hand, “Hey, what are you not telling me?”

And just like that, Constantine switched the darkness off, a confident grin returning to his face. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“A man can’t tell his kid he appreciates him, anymore? Lighten up, Liam.”

--x--

Liam sat in the garage of his apartment building to smoke and attempt at shuffling through his thoughts. Maybe it was counterproductive. An hour after leaving Constantine’s office, Liam learned of another potential fuck up in his father’s ranks. Someone was making trade deals on the low, and informing a rival company of some arms delivery pick up spots before they arrived for a cut of the profit. He passed the message along to Drake, who responded with the same concerns regarding Constantine’s failing leadership.

Liam was only one man. Though he was sure he didn’t feel an ounce of the pressure his father did, the stress he felt nearly crippled him sometimes. He briefly allowed his mind to wander to Lyra and what she was doing. Did she know how much he envied her life? She didn’t answer to anyone, she could leave the city if she wanted to, she never had to constantly look over her shoulder. Lyra carried herself with the air of freedom he could only dream about. Clutching his phone in tatted knuckles, he almost considered texting her. But truly, what would he even say?

“Hey, I know we only spoke once and you gave me your number because you wanted to pay me back for the gas (which you still don’t have to do). But what does freedom feel like?”

Right now, Liam imagined she was laying across the secondhand sofa in some old college sweatshirt, watching YouTube, her mind a thousand miles away from him. He’d never even seen her apartment. But he had a feeling she had a lot of plants and a collection of decorated whiskey bottles on her kitchen counter. She seemed like the type. He caught himself chuckling at the thought and frowned. Ideally, he’d just let her go. He could never bring her into this world, she was too good for it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could grow to like her.

The shrill ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, sharply pulling him from a moment of escapism he didn’t even know he needed.

“Hello?” Liam answered, attempting to mask his disappointment.

“Idon’tknowwhathappened! Idon’tknow!” A shrill voice cried on the other end between sobs. Liam pulled the phone from his face, and realized it was his father’s assistant, Penelope, calling from an unknown number. Alarm bells went off in Liam’s head, and he turned the ignition in his car.

“Pen, what happened?” He asked, sitting up in his seat.

“I just came in and he was....! I don’t know what happened, Liam! I was gone for an hour!”

“What. Happened?” Liam asked, again. His heart began to thud in his ears, and he gripped the steering wheel, “Just fucking tell me. Spit it out-”

“Constantine shot himself!”

#playchoices #liam x mc #naja writes #honeymoon**#crime au! trr

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